Change Me
by parscilla
Summary: In which Harry decides to give Draco Malfoy a chance despite his arrogance, and shakes his hand on their first Hogwarts Express ride. -Drarry/HarryxDraco-
1. Hand Shakes

**A/N: I tried to make the train scene as similar to the book as possible, but since I don't have the book with me, I apologize for any major mistakes. Please enjoy! **

The Hogwarts Express was, indeed, a place where some of the first magic a child could experience would happen. Some witness their first magical creature, or see to arguing friends jinx each other into strange shapes. Others, like Harry Potter, meet magical people.

The chairs, Harry decided, were quite comfortable. He'd never been in a train before (the Dursleys never took him on trips), therefore he had nothing to compare it to. Nonetheless, his back didn't hurt, nor did his rear, despite the fact that he'd been sitting in that same spot for a while. He didn't know what to expect, or how to reach out. Eleven years it had been, where he had thought he was merely a young boy, even if strange things did happen around him. His life; however, had recently been turned around.

Harry Potter was a wizard.

Considering the brief amount of time he had prior to his first wizarding school experience, and his lack of knowledge of the wizarding world, he was at a complete loss of how to make friends, or even function in this new environment. As the anxiety rose, he was – gratefully - interrupted by tap on his shoulder. Looking up, he saw a boy his age with bright red hair, and a bashful grin spreading across his face.

"Nervous?" said Ron Weasley, his first wizarding friend whom he had met earlier at the train station.

Harry laughed shakily, "Yeah."

"Don't worry mate, my brothers say Hogwarts is great, you know, once you get used to it. You grew up with muggles, right?"

"Muggles? Oh, yeah, I – um—my aunt and uncle. Muggles."

Ron nodded his head as if he were a doctor assessing the state of his patient, "There's plenty of muggle-born witches and wizards, though. I guess you're kind of like one of them."

_One of them_, Harry thought. He remembered the phrase from the blond boy he'd met at the robe shop. His eyebrows pulled together for a moment at the thought. "Do people not like muggle-borns?" he asked.

Ron bit his lip, "Some people don't. My family's okay with 'em. Guess they can't be too bad."

Harry nodded, suddenly fearing his mental reputation of the blond boy from the robe shop, and strived to change the topic, "Hey, have you learned any magic yet? Are wizard kids allowed to do magic?"

"Well, no, but I've seen my family do magic. I know this one spell its—"

Apparently, Harry hadn't needed to change the subject on his own accord, for a brisk voice was heard to their side just moments after Ron had begun his answer, "Have either of you seen a toad? His name is Trevor."

Harry and Ron both looked around to no avail, "Er, no," Harry answered the girl at their compartment door. She huffed, putting her fists onto her hips.

"Very well," she said, waltzing into their compartment and taking a seat beside Ron. "I'm Hermione, and you are…?"

Ron and Harry looked at each other, "I'm Ron Weasley," he announced, and Harry followed, "I'm Harry Potter."

Hermione's eyes widened, "I've read about you!" her eyes went up to where his hair covered the scar on his forehead, and Harry took that as a command to reveal it. He used his hand to push up the dark hair that covered his forehead, causing Hermione to look even more surprised.

As the silence prevailed, Ron took the opportunity to continue their interrupted conversation. "So anyway, that spell – "

"Wait, are you going to try doing _magic_?" Hermione loudly interjected.

Ron frowned at her obvious rudeness, "Yeah, I was, and if you—"

"Well go _on _then," He interrupted again.

Ron huffed, and muttered something that sounded like, "Alright then, alright," and raised his wand. He spoke an enchantment, and Harry felt his glasses jump.

Hermione yelped, "Now_ look_ what you've done! Complete incompetence. Harry, come here, he's cracked your glasses."

Harry looked around anxiously, and scooted so that he was positioned directly across from the girl. She nodded and raised her wand, "_Reparo!_" she said, and he felt his glasses twitch again. From the satisfied grin on her face, he reckoned the spell had worked. Harry ran his fingers across the glass and, not feeling any cracks, confirmed his theory. "Er, thanks." He said.

For the second time, Harry and Ron were interrupted. This time, not by an overly arrogant girl, but by an equally arrogant boy – the blond one Harry had met at Madame Malkin's Robe Shop.

The boy looked at him with a slight smile on his angelic, yet somehow dangerous face, "So it's true then?" he inquired excitedly, "Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts? I knew you were different when I met you. This is Crabbe, that's Goyle, and I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy," he introduced himself, holding out a hand. Harry was about to take it, deciding it was wrong to judge based on their previous encounter, when he heard Ron's stifled giggles behind him.

"You think my name's funny, do you?" Draco Malfoy barked hotly, dropping his hand. "I have no need to even ask yours; red hair and second hand robes? You must be a Weasley." He smirked and looked back to Harry, "You'll learn which families are worth being associated with," he held out his hand again, "and it's not his."

"I like him," Harry retorted.

Draco Malfoy turned his head to look up and down Ron's form, "If you say so, Potter." With a smirk and a slight twitch of the eyebrows, he turned with his two accomplices and began to walk away.

Ron _was_ the one who had laughed at Draco Malfoy's name. Maybe this boy was just nervous…but he had spoken rather arrogantly to Harry on the day in the robe shop… Maybe he'd never met a muggle-born before? Harry was just as good as a muggle-born, even Ron had said so, and Draco Malfoy seemed to want to befriend him! His particular form of arrogance, Harry guessed, was due to his need to impress Harry. Harry smiled inwardly at the strange prospect of his fame.

"Draco – er – Draco Malfoy!" he called after the blond head. Draco Malfoy looked back at him, eyebrows raised. "Potter – er – Harry Potter!" he mimicked jokingly. Harry closed the space between them with a few steps, and held out his own hand with a smile. Draco Malfoy, looking smug and pleased, took it, and shook it three times.

"See you at the sorting…Harry." He said, and beckoned his friends to follow him back to their compartment. Harry, for some reason, could not wait to talk to Draco Malfoy again.


	2. Card Games

Four Years Later

"Uno!" Ron declared.

"Oh, must you, Weasley?" Draco asked desperately, "Honestly I highly doubt your integrity at this game considering you've gotten Uno three times in a row. How, may I ask, are you this good at a Muggle game?"

Though Draco notoriously had no respect for the likes of Muggle entertainment, he seemed decently upset at his lack of talent in this particular game. At the start of term, Harry had told Draco how Hermione had insinuated that though Draco viewed Muggle activities below him, he still would not be any good at them. Draco took this accusation to great personal offense, and had since then insisted that Hermione's parents sent her as many Muggle games as they could for him to master. It had been a month since that conversation, and every Saturday night since Draco had found himself in the Gryffindor common room playing Muggle games with the likes of a muggle-born, a blood traitor, and Harry Potter, who just happened to be his only real friend out of the lot.

Draco would have most likely loved to slander Hermione's heritage, or tease Ron about his second hand robes and red hair, but unfortunately for him, Harry would have beaten him to a pulp if he voiced himself this way.

"Yeah, Malfoy, I must," Ron assured with a sneer, "Blimey, it's not _my_ fault your card skills aren't worth the robes you wear."

Draco's eyes darted up to Ron's face darkly, "Watch it, Weasley."

Harry suppressed a smile, "Both of you shut up."

"Why?" Draco insisted, "I'm being bullied."

"Because, you idiot, I've just skipped you and you're trying to put a card down because you didn't notice over your row with Ron. Really, Draco, how do they dare to call you a cunning and skillful Slytherin?" Harry said smartly.

Draco grunted and muttered something involving "Weasel" and a few colorful swear words. Hermione rolled her eyes, Ron looked offended, and Harry shouted, "Uno!"

Draco jerked upright, spewing his very full hand of cards all over the room, and made a high pitched yelp of protest. "Are you _kidding_ me, Potter? You can't just use other people's distraction! I demand you draw four cards."

Harry, who had begun picking up Draco's cards during his melodramatic spasm, took the cards in his hand and shoved them against Draco's face as a response. Draco sputtered in objection, taking a hand full of cards from the deck and shoving them into Harry's face. Hermione and Ron's outcries of displeasure went unheard by the two, who were now red from laughing and on the floor tackling each other, shoving previously crisp and un-bent Uno cards into each other's faces.

"Un-unhand me!" Draco hollered, interrupted by his own laughter. Harry then had Draco pinned to the floor and had crumpled one last card, poking the wad against Draco's nose. He finally let Draco up and sat back with the remaining two, who were eyeing the entire spectacle with utter disgust.

Ron shook his head, and Hermione proceeded to gather both the cards and the ex-cards (now just crumbled remnants).

"Hold on, Hermione, I'll help," Ron offered, and Hermione graciously accepted.

Harry turned to Draco, "You're an idiot."

Draco raised his eyebrows, "_Moi_? How dare you. _You_ were the instigator of this grand battle, Harrold, don't you dare blame your stupidity on me."

Harry nodded incredulously, "Okay, okay. Well, you're still an idiot anyway, even if this particular event was my fault."

Draco stood, "I cannot stand for this," he proclaimed with faux offense, "I am leaving and going to a place where I am more welcome."

Harry stood to accompany him, "Turning in for the night, eh? These Muggle games too hard-core for the grand Malfoy heir, then?"

"Hardly," Draco scoffed, following with a grin, "G' nite, Harry."

Harry playfully punched his shoulder and returned the farewell, "G'nite."

"Don't let the bed bugs bite."

"I'll hex them away."

"You wish."

"Actually I don't, considering I don't want them in the first place."

"Whatever, Potter," Draco rolled his eyes. "See you."

"Right," Harry said with a smile, and turned around himself, heading towards the boys dormitory to join Ron, who had presumably gone upstairs already during Harry and Draco's exchange.


	3. Past Endeavors

"Harry," said a mildly aggravated voice.

Harry looked up to see Draco sitting in the grass next to him with his back hunched over so far that a few white-blond segments of hair, usually neatly combed to the side and back, tickled the top of his parchment.

"Hmm?" Harry answered, captivated by the way those hairs seemed to dance with the slightest of moves, such as a breath or a blink.

Draco groaned, gipping his quill even further down, so that his fingers were just fractions of a centimeter away from where he was writing. "Why, Harry, why is any of this necessary?"

"I know. Dumb. Stupid. Potions is dumb and stupid."

Their assignment for the day was to draw and label the many stages of three different potions, and since Snape was his usual horrid self, they would be graded on their…_artistic finesse_. To Harry and Draco's grand misfortune, they _had _no artistic finesse. On second thought, maybe it was only unfortunate to Harry. He could see it now:

"_Potter? You call this an illustration?" _Snape would say with his lip curled in morbid amusement.

"_Well, yes, considering I did illustrate it. I would call it an illustration. Or a drawing. Whichever terminology works best for you, Professor. I always aim to please." _He would retort smartly, knowing that it didn't matter whether he was sweeter than treacle tart, or a Grade A Prat, Snape would treat him just the same.

Then, Snape would take his "illustration," proceeding to crumple it up, toss it in the air, and burn it with his wand. Snape would admire Draco's work (which would have been noticeably worse than Harry's – yes, that _was_ possible) and proceed to give him top marks, while Draco would smile up at him, pausing only to grin playfully and smugly at Harry when Snape looked away.

Harry shook his head inwardly at the unfairness of these inevitable situations, remembering to one day – if there was ever a teacher at Hogwarts that adored Harry like Snape adored Draco – make those exact same smug grins across the room to his friend. Harry couldn't wait for the opportunity.

"I mean what is the _point_? I'm sure if we _make _the potion we'll right know what the stages are!" Draco raged, "Why is it necessary to _draw_ them? My hand is cramping!"

Harry could have made a dirty remark involving Draco's hand, but he saved it for a time when his friend was less murderous. "I dunno, mate. Just…just draw Snape drowning in one of them. He wont even take points off for it or get offended. He'll probably be all," Harry pulled his most stoic expression, and flattened his hair to the best of his ability, speaking in his best Snape impersonation, "_Ah, Mr. Malfoy, I enjoy that you have decided to include me in your illustration, unlike Mr. Potter. Fifty points for Slytherin and fifty points from Gryffindor!"_

Draco lifted his head from its intimate position above the parchment, his lips spread wide in a laugh as he copied Harry's Snape-esque look, "_Mr. Potter? Are you laughing at Mr. Malfoy's work? Make that seventy-five points from Gryffindor!_"

Harry erupted in laughter, "Draco, leave poor Severus alone, he's mentally challenged."

"Ah Harry, shut up. You know he _is_ a good teacher," Draco informed.

Harry raised his eyebrows, "Yeah, when he's not boiling first years into his potions."

Draco pulled a mad-man's face, stirring an invisible cauldron and mimicking throwing little people into it. "Draco, you prat, stop it people are staring."

People, in fact, were staring. Harry and Draco had been making such a ruckus that others were glancing at them curiously. "Oops," said Draco, and Harry even dared to think he blushed a tiny bit.

"Want to go inside?" Harry asked.

Draco shrugged, "Sure."

Harry and Draco picked up their parchment, books, and quills and headed towards the castle. As they entered the school, they continued to verbally abuse Snape, at least until they almost ran into him personally. Harry gasped softly and yanked Draco behind a suit of armor in the corridor. Draco turned his head slightly to look at him, and then pointed with his thumb to the two figures walking very slowly past them.

"—because I'm not overreacting!" shouted the icily familiar voice of Igor Karkaroff. Karkaroff was the headmaster of Durmstrang Institute, a school from which students had arrived to participate in the Triwizard Tournament. Harry had been forced to participate by a force that was out of his control, except no one believed a word he said except Ron, Hermione, Dumbledore, and Draco.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, my dear Igor," answered Snape's exhausted voice, "You are. And I would very much prefer it if you would leave our past endeavors behind us, as obviously they shall no longer be an issue."

Karkaroff grabbed Snape by the shoulders, and Harry anxiously looked over at Draco, who was white in the face, "_They are an issue!_ Can you not feel it? Can you not see it? You are only blinding yourself by refusing to acknowledge it!"

"Igor, enough!" Snape boomed in a manner Harry had never heard of him before, "Enough! I have had enough! I suggest you get back to your students, and stop trying to put silly ideas before me. Leave me now; I have lessons to plan."

With a swish of his cloak Snape had turned, tripling his original pace, and walked backwards deeper into the castle. Karkaroff looked after him for a moment, giving an exasperated groan as Snape's figure disappeared, and himself exited the castle, most likely headed for his boat and students.

Once they were alone, Harry once again looked over at Draco, who was still sheet white. Draco was gripping the forearm of the suit of armor, the skin of his knuckles going white, and staring wide eyed at where Snape and Karkaroff had stood.

"Blimey, what was that all about?" Harry asked.

Draco did not respond.

"I wonder how the two know each other on a first name basis…suspicious." Harry looked over at Draco hopefully for an answer.

Draco did not provide said answer.

"Draco, are you…" Harry began.

Draco suddenly snapped out of his stupor, relaxing his grip on the knight's forearm and turning to face Harry with a weak smile, "I'm okay. I'm okay. Yes, how weird! Strange, strange, how they would know each other? Igor? What a name, what a name."

"Draco…"

"What I think is suspicious is why Karkaroff would suddenly be calling Snape by his first name! How rude, considering they so recently met and obviously have not had the time to acquaint themselves well."

"Unless they knew each other before hand! You heard what they were saying about 'past endeavors.'" Harry supplied, momentarily forgetting about Draco's strange immobilizing spell of fear.

Draco shook his head, "Right, well, they probably meant previous Quidditch bets or…or…yes, they must have been engaged in some betting and one of them backed out of it, and is now unfortunate enough to be trapped in a castle with the other!"

Harry's eyebrows moved together, "Well, maybe, but—"

"Harry, I don't think we should read in to it. Maybe they knew each other as kids? Or maybe they had a job together – er - before working at school."

Harry pondered for a moment, "I guess I'm just a bit eager to catch Snape at something."

Draco grinned, "The only thing you'll catch him at is taking fifty points off your house if we stay behind this stupid suit of armor any longer. Plus, my legs are falling asleep, and your hand has been quite near my rear end for quite some time, and even though I understand that my outrageous appeal can be hard to bear at times, it's beginning to make me a tad uncomfortable."

Harry blushed and began to frantically attempt to explain to Draco that he in no way meant to molest him in the darkness of the corridor, but Draco shushed him with a laugh. "Shut up, Harry." He looked around, "Do you reckon its lunch time yet? I slept through breakfast and I'm monstrously hungry."

Harry looked at his watch, "Well, we have like fifteen minutes."

Draco beamed, "Oh _goody_," he said in a mock-girly squeal. He and Harry stepped away from their hiding spot and proceeded towards the great hall, "we could go get seats early, do you think? Also, if its not too much of an inconvenience to have my insufferable presence around you while you eat, could I sit at your table?" Draco must have sensed Harry's surprise and explained, "I caught Pansy snogging some sixth year, and they're both rather angry with me. I don't think I'll make it through the meal without getting stabbed if I try to sit with my house. I'm sure no one will notice."

"Er, right." Somehow, Harry didn't believe that no one would notice if the loudest and most obnoxious Slytherin ended up stuffing his face alongside Gryffindors with which he had a mutually hateful relationship. Draco rolled his eyes, "It'll be fine. Trust me, I won't eat any of your friends."

"Oh, I wasn't worried about that. See, there's more of them than you, so it'll be along the lines of a piranha attack."

Draco looked astounded, "Shut your mouth, Potter. There is no way I would let the likes of Neville Longbottom or grandmother-robes Weasley bite me. Do you know what that would do to my reputation, and more importantly my own mental stability?"

Harry rolled his eyes so hard he thought they would fall out, "They aren't _that bad_, Draco."

"That doesn't mean I want their mouths on my body, thank you."

Harry thought for a moment and, frankly, he couldn't help but agree.


	4. Trust

With only two weeks left until the first task, Harry was feeling his stomach knot and twist and lurch painfully at random times during the day. He'd be sitting in class, and suddenly the thought would pop into his head, causing his lips to chap, his heart to race, and perspiration to slowly creep onto the palms of his hands.

Harry tried desperately to procrastinate the acknowledgement of his upcoming terror. One particular potions class, he'd started to panic, and Draco – whom he'd made aware of his Tournament Panic Symptoms – had nudged him silently, and proceeded to cast a Vocal Apex charm on Snape, causing his voice to raise several octaves. The class exploded with laughter, and Harry could have sworn he saw a few strands of Snape's greasy hair stand up with the sheer force of the anger behind them. Snape interrogated the class, hoping the perpetrator would confess. He even went so far as to check Harry's wand for previous incantations but to no avail.

These days, Harry and Draco spent most of their time flying, usually accompanied by Ron. Ron and Draco…well…they got along. It was nowhere near as bad as when they were in their first year, thankfully, but they did bicker. Harry supposed it wasn't any worse than Ron and Hermione's bickering, but then again, he wished people would just _stop bickering_.

"You're a dirty cheat!" Harry heard Ron bellow as his attention returned to his two friends.

Draco gasped, "At least I _play_ Quidditch!"

Ron crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing, "It doesn't count when you cheat your way onto the team, Malfoy."

"Why, I never," Draco crossed his arms as well, "I would _never_ cheat my way onto the team."

"Yeah, oh yeah, okay," Ron scoffed incredulously.

Harry had enough, "Guys – Guys literally _shut up_!"

Draco and Ron both turned to him and Draco sneered, "What's it to you, Potter?"

"Oh, don't pull that 'Potter' nonsense, Draco." Harry said with a quick eye roll.

Draco nodded and sighed, accepting the fact that he was being annoying.

"Truce, mate?" Ron offered.

Draco raised his eyebrows, "Mate? Alright. Mate." He took Ron's outstretched hand.

"And that's the second time a noble Gryffindor has given you a second chance via a hand shake."

Draco grunted, "Don't push it, Weasley."

"Good," Harry said, "now we can get some decent flying in."

They flew without bickering for a good two hours, until Harry had finally made himself aware of the time, jerking his broom to a halt.

"Alright, men, dinner's in half an hour. I reckon we should shower before we go as to not accidentally collapse anybody's lungs."

Draco and Ron both agreed, and Ron characteristically made a few comments about his hunger, to which Draco had a hard time restraining insulting retorts. "Well, I suppose I'll see you later, Draco."

"Of course," Draco said with a smile. "A few Slytherins and I have plans after dinner, though."

Harry admitted he was a bit deflated by the news, "'S okay, mate. See you tomorrow, then?"

Draco nodded, "As I said, of course."

Ron's hunger-made irritated voice sounded from below, "Will you two love birds pull apart from each other and come on. I'm bloody hungry, and I _will_ go without you, Harry."

"Oh, how tragic," Draco said dramatically. Harry punched his shoulder for the rudeness.

"Alright, alright," he breathed, "I'm coming, keep your hat on."

Harry landed, followed by Draco. Just a little while away from the castle, they passed Cho and some of her friends walking back up from their outdoor study session.

"Harry," she nodded with a sweet smile that made Harry's stomach tingle, "Ron…Draco." She also greeted.

"Hi, Cho," they said in unison, Harry's rendition far more breathless than his companions'.

Cho gazed at him when he had been staring for many seconds too long, "Going to dinner?"

"I – yes. Yeah, yeah. We are." He said, and gently tugged the sleeve of Ron's robes, setting off for the castle with a wave, feeling immensely stupid.

"Ah," Draco crooned, "Young love. So beautiful, blissful, and embarrassing."

Harry turned to him, walking backwards, "Shut up, Draco. Just because you don't have a heart doesn't mean I can't."

Draco nodded, "Cold. You're learning," He smiled.

They had reached the castle by this time, and were heading inwards. Harry and Ron separated from Draco and headed up towards Gryffindor tower for their hasty showers.

"I dunno why you're friends with him, Harry. I do not know." Ron awed.

"Come on, Ron," Harry argued, "He's decent. You both fight. It takes two to tango."

"Bloody blond git," Ron mumbled, followed by, "Newt feet," which was the Gryffindor password.

They entered, finding a relatively full common room filled with people most likely waiting around for dinner time. They all turned to look at Harry as he and Ron passed, none of them apparently able to forget about the first task like Harry had for the last few hours. Reality jolted back to him, and the earlier light-hearted mood he held while flying left him.

He and Ron marched up the stairs, heading for the bathrooms. When done with their showers and with their dressing, they still had a few minutes to spare, so they decided to fill it by sitting and talking. Ron sat on his bed and Harry on his, followed by a few moments of silence.

Ron was the first to speak, "His dad was a Death Eater, you know."

"Ron –" Harry began. Ron had brought this up a few times already, but Harry wouldn't hear it.

Ron didn't care. "He was," he said.

"One, he was cleared. Two, Draco isn't his father. Three, people change, and four, I don't care." Harry recited.

Ron rolled his eyes, "Out of all the people who could befriend Death Eater spawn, you'd be the last on my list. But alas."

Harry's back stiffened, "_Death Eater spawn?_"

Ron looked up innocently, "Well, yeah."

"That's all he is, then; just a product of his parents? He doesn't have a mind or will of his own he's just… '_Death Eater spawn_.'" Harry was fuming.

Ron exhaled, "Harry come on! He's a Slytherin! His dad was a Death Eater! He probably killed people!"

"Ron shut up, you don't know _anything!_" Harry was standing now, and Ron followed suit.

Ron's voice rose above Harry's, "_I_ don't know anything? _I_ don't know anything? Harry, you're the one who's best chums with someone who probably only talks to you so his rotten father can kill you for his - his master!"

Harry grabbed Ron's collar, "In case you haven't noticed, Voldemort's not even human anymore. Yeah, fine, wince at the name! At least I'm brave enough to use it! He has no following! I'm not in _any_," he shoved Ron back, "_danger!_"

"He's a git!" Ron yelled.

"No," Harry growled, "You are." He shot Ron one last look of disgust and exited, slamming the door behind him.

He ignored all stares as he stomped down to the Great hall, where some of the first early people had started to gather, including Draco.

Harry marched to the Slytherin table, sitting down next to his very surprised friend.

"Harry, what'er you—" he began.

Harry turned to him, "Ron is once again under the impression that I'm blinded and you're just a Death Eater spawn."

"The Weasel thinks I'm a _Death Eater_?" Draco asked very seriously.

Harry nodded curtly, and Draco continued, "Well I'm not. You know that. To think I thought he was half decent today…"

"Well, I assure you, he won't be with us for a long while. I'm fed up with him." Harry assured.

"Harry you don't—"

Harry interrupted him again, "Not only did he first accuse me of putting my own name into the Goblet of Fire, but now he thinks he can chose my friends."

It was true; Ron hadn't spoken to him for days after Harry's name was pulled from the Goblet. It was something about Draco believing Harry that had made him calm down after a while. Something in the back of Harry's mind worried that after this row, he would once again retreat into his state of obnoxious disbelief, but mostly, Harry didn't care if that happened.

"Why, Potter," Harry looked up to see a mahogany color haired Slytherin girl glaring down at him. "We Slytherins have to sit somewhere too. It can't all be for our precious Triwizard Champion."

"Shove off, Carla," Draco intervened. "I'll decide if Potter sits here or not."

The girl, Carla, apparently did not want to anger Draco any more than he obviously already was, retreated.

The food appeared on their plates, and Harry took it onto his gratefully. He and Draco ate in silence next to the conversing Slytherins, until Draco put his fork down, and looked into his lap.

Harry noticed his strange silence and asked him, "Okay?"

Draco pursed his lips, "I'm not a Death Eater. The Dark Lord is gone."

Harry clenched his fist briefly, "I know you're not. In case you haven't noticed, I trust you."

Draco finally looked up and smiled. "Eat you skinny git, how do you expect to win a tournament while on the verge of emaciation?"

Harry decided to hold off on the smart remarks, thankful that he had at least one decent friend. Sometimes, he supposed, the most wonderful people are the people you'd last expect to be so.


	5. Nicknames

**A/N: this was looking like a pretty boring chapter, as far as they will go throughout the story. I hope you're liking their fluffy friendship so far, but as we know, all things of that nature change at some point. *noticeable wink***

It was a cool day in late November, filled with anxious excitement revolving around what was usually the month-long anticipation of Christmas. This year; however, the pre-holiday joy was largely rivaled by the ever so looming first task of the Triwizard tournament. It was just hours prior to yet another unnecessary danger in Harry's life, and he was beginning to regret his own birth. Though he had lucked out due to Hagrid's morally questionable help, he still could not help feel terrified on his own behalf.

Lunch went by quickly, as things often did when certain doom lurked just minutes away, and Harry soon was being led away by Professor McGonagall. Meeting with Bagman and selecting of their respective dragons by the champions went by quickly, but no quicker than the terrible wait for Harry's turn.

The time came, and Harry found him soaring above the dragon's mean, fiery head and down to grab his objective: the golden egg. The crowd's roars barely registered in Harry's ears, and he thanked the world that he was safely down on the ground, ready to go back to his friends.

Ron still wasn't talking to him, of course. As Harry had predicted, he used his recent Draco-related row to also express his intense disbelief in Harry's integrity. To Harry's annoyance, he was badgered by congratulations and handshakes from Hagrid and Professor Moody and a visit with Madam Pomfrey before he finally saw the glowing faces of Hermione, Draco, and… _Ron_.

Hermione threw her arms around Harry, "Oh, _Harry_, you were brilliant!"

"True, that dragon was in for a tough one as soon as you summoned your broom," he heard Draco say as he felt his hand on his shoulder. Hermione let go and Harry took Draco's hand, pulling him in for the manliest of hugs. As he felt Draco's laugh against his own chest, he felt one odd heart beat more strongly than the others against his rib cage in reaction. Before he could let go, he heard Draco mutter, "Weasley," and Harry parted from him and turned around.

Ron was standing at the entrance of the tent, both hands in his trouser pockets under his robes, slouching sheepishly. He offered Harry a small grin.

"Well?" Harry said finally.

Ron's grin disappeared. He made his way towards Harry and pursed his lips. Harry rolled his eyes internally, expecting a snide remark. To his surprise, Ron said stubbornly, "Harry…I-I reckon whoever put your name in the goblet…they're trying to do you in!"

Harry felt as in a burden that he'd been carrying for months was finally lifted from his shoulders. He stepped closer to Ron and grinned, "Caught on, have you?" Ron nodded in affirmation.

"I'm sorry, mate. I was a right arse to you. I – I had no right, you know, constantly going on and off on you."

Harry found himself laughing easily, "It's okay, really."

"You sure?"

"Absolutely."

The two stood, hands in pockets, matching grins, staring at each other. The simultaneous sounds of Hermione's exasperated cry and Draco's incredulous groan were heard to the side.

"You two are so _stupid!_" Hermione gasped as she hugged them both around the shoulders.

"Whadderyou - 'Mione," Harry started in protest.

Ron joined in, "There's nothing to cry over!"

The three of them heard a 'hmph' and turned to see Draco leaned against the edge of one of the medical tent's side tables. "Gryffindors," he mumbled.

"Oh get over yourself, Malfoy," Ron snapped.

Draco cackled, "Please, Weasley, if I thought for one moment that I –"

"Both of you shut up, honestly," Harry intervened. "Let's go find out the scores."

The quartet made its way out of the tent, out to where the judges were about to present their scores. Ron slapped Harry playfully on the back and laughed happily when Harry had tied with Krum in first place. Charlie Weasley had even stopped by to congratulate him, followed by a quick meeting in one of the tents with Bagman, who informed him about the egg's clue for the next task. Harry mentally reminded himself to get to work on it, but subsequently decided that he had time – and a lot of it.

On their way back up to the castle, Harry remembered about Sirius, and how he had promised to keep him informed on the task.

Harry swore, "Guys, I have to go up to the owelry, I forgot I have to –"

"Oh come on," interrupted Ron, "do it later?"

Harry sighed, "Okay, okay."

"I reckon there'll be a party back in Gryffindor," Ron said hopefully.

"Of course there will be," Draco confirmed loudly, "_Harry Potter_ just _stole an egg from an angry dragon_, you don't really suppose people will be quiet about this, do you?"

Harry slapped him on the shoulder lightly, "No need to be rude, Drake."

Draco stopped stiffly, "Don't you ever. Call me… '_Drake_.' Again. Harry. James. Potter."

Ron almost fell over in laughter, "Good ol' _Drake_ Malfoy!"

"Weasley, it would _not_ be below me to hex you," Draco pointed out, his face still showing complete shock at his new apparent nickname.

"Honestly, _Drake_," Ron said with a chuckle, "It'd be worth it."

Draco turned to Harry, who was next to Hermione muffling his laughter, "See what you've done? You have single handedly ruined hundreds of generations of the Malfoy family's dignity. I'm afraid this friendship is over."

"Oh, boo-hoo, Draco. You know you love me." Harry sneered.

"Do not."

"Do too."

"You guys are both about five years old," Hermione piped in.

Draco and Harry looked at each other, eyebrows raised, and turned to her, "About right," Draco agreed with a nod.

"Come on!" Ron pleaded, "I'm starving, and I heard that," he looked around conspicuously, "there's gonna be firewhiskey."

Draco threw his hands into the air, "Oh good heavens! Not alcohol to poison these innocent Gryffindor souls! How can I live with this ungodliness?"

Ron scowled, but smartly decided not to retaliate. One mustn't provoke Draco Malfoy if they wanted to get back up to the castle any time in the next two weeks.

Finally, they had made it back to Gryffindor Tower. Draco, by Harry's consent, had been invited also. Considering he and Harry had been friends since first year, the Gryffindors were accepting of Draco's common presence, even though Harry, Ron, and Hermione (the latter two he didn't know whether to consider friends. They were always together, but Draco never gave up the opportunity for some sub-friendly teasing) were his only real Gryffindor friends.

As expected, with the opening of the entrance, sound exploded to their ears, and Harry felt a hand tug him into the room.

"Harry, mate!" Boomed George Weasley, "Congratulations on your ever so beautiful victory!"

Harry grinned at him; he had always liked the Weasley twins. Come to think of it, no one _disliked_ the Weasley twins. Even Draco seemed to put up with them, which was understandable considering they had similar senses of humor.

A finger tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned to see Draco in a deep dramatic bow with his hand outstretched, "May I have this dance?" he asked loudly over the music.

Harry bowed in return, "Of course, but there's no way I'm waltzing across my common room hand in hand with the likes of you."

"Waltzing? Oh my dear fellow, you must get in with the modern times. We do not waltz, we…boogie." Draco answered, fixing his tie pompously.

"'Boogie?' I thought that was purely a Muggle term from the seventies." Harry answered.

Draco's face dropped, "A Muggle term? Are you serious? It was used mostly by wizards until somehow Muggles caught on, purely accidental of course."

Harry waved his hands above his head defensively, "Oh, I'm _so_ sorry."

"Fine then," Draco huffed, "we shall waltz," and he suddenly grabbed Harry by the middle, pulling him roughly into a mock-serious dance.

Both laughing, they switched to a tango, their heads held high. Each time they turned, Harry's heart skipped a beat as their chests touched together.

These reactions, of course, were completely unnoticed by the Gryffindor's betraying mind.


	6. Snowballs

**A/N: Thank you to the reviews I've gotten! Please continue to read and review! :) This is going to be a longer chapter than the others, and I do hope it's much to your liking. **

The first half of December had flown by, leaving Harry and the others encompassed in cold weather and pre-Christmas joy. This year, Harry would be visiting the Weasleys, something he would be eternally grateful for. Sometimes he thought about the idea of going back to the Dursley's for the holidays, and just the thought of it seemed farcical.

This year was different in another way somehow, Harry thought. It seemed natural that he spend Christmas with Ron and his family. It was right that it be Mrs. Weasley's voice that woke him up on Christmas morning, and Mr. Weasley who organized the tree decorating. He was glad that it was Ron with whom he ripped open presents, scattering the wrapping paper all over the floor.

He couldn't help but wonder what it would be like spending Christmas with Draco Malfoy.

The two had been friends as long as he and Ron, and were just as good of friends as he and Ron, but there was never a possible way to integrate himself into Draco's life like he had with Ron. He loved Ron, of course, but Draco wasn't like Ron. He wasn't like anyone, actually. He had a different sense of humor, and a different way of communicating; but he _understood_. Draco was like Harry's other half, or at least Harry liked to think of it that way. Draco was blond; Harry had black hair. Draco was cunning; Harry was trusting. Draco was calculating; Harry was impulsive. Draco was vain; Harry was careless.

Yet no two people understood each other as wholly and completely as Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy.

Somewhere deep inside him, Harry knew that if he hadn't shaken Draco's hand on September 1st, 1991, the same differences that made them so compatible would have made them the most fitting enemies. He sheepishly thought of how many times he'd secretly said thankful prayers that all the pieces had fallen together to create their beautiful friendship.

They loved each other, really, when you got down to the core of it all. Of course, Harry loved Ron and Hermione with a force inexplicable by words, but still with Draco, it was different.

This is all why Harry wished so badly that he could spend Christmas with Draco. He thought about Mrs. Malfoy being the one to wake him and Draco up on Christmas morning, and he almost laughed aloud. Mrs. Malfoy and her husband didn't even know of Harry and Draco's friendship. He remembered what Draco said on their train ride back to London at the end of first year:

"_You know, my parents don't even know I'm friends with you." He said, looking down at his hands, fingers playing with the flap on a box of Every Flavor Beans. _

_Harry looked from Draco's hands to his drooping face, "Really? Why?" _

_Draco laughed silently, and looked up at Harry, "I don't think they like you." _

"_Oh," Harry responded gently. He'd spent a good portion of the end of the year wondering about Draco's family, and waiting to meet them at the end of this very train ride. _

"S_orry," Draco apologized, dropping his head back down to stare at his pale hands. This was strange, Draco hated apologizing. Harry vaguely wondered if this had been the only apology he'd ever made, and was secretly quite grateful to be the recipient of such an honor. _

_Harry picked his feet off the floor and crossed them Indian-style on the train seat, "It's okay, I guess it's not your fault… Why don't they like me?"_

_Draco bit his lip, "I dunno, Harry. I just," he exhaled, obviously more troubled than any eleven year old should be, "I just don't think you should meet them. Not yet, at least. I'm not going to tell them about you, I don't think."_

_Harry was looking down again, his cheeks burning. Draco probably saw this, and said with a quivering voice, "I like you a lot, Harry. I think you're my best friend." He pondered for a moment, "You're definitely my best friend." _

_The burning in Harry's cheeks intensified; he never did like emotional confessions of the sort, but Lord knows neither did Draco, so he behaved. _

"_You're my best friend too, Draco… And it's okay if your parents don't like me. Try to slip it in some time that I'm not a worthless git, though?" _

_Draco laughed, "Of course!" the smile on his face washed away and he added, "Before coming here – to Hogwarts, I mean – I told my father that you'd be going here, too. I thought he'd be thrilled, seeing as you're famous and such. He just… told me not to talk to you. I didn't listen, obviously. When you didn't take my hand the first time, I thought he was right, that you were no good. But then when you turned around and offered me yours, I thought I'd give you a second chance like you gave me. I was right, though. My father thinks he knows everything, but he doesn't know you, Harry."_

Harry smiled at the thought. It was so him to be sitting here thinking deep, emotional thoughts over a bowl of porridge.

"Harry," Hermione said, breaking him free of his stupor.

He put the spoon he'd been holding in midair for the last five minutes down into the bowl, "Yeah?"

She leaned in close to him, "Have you gotten working on that egg yet like I told you? We're leaving for the holidays tomorrow, you know," She whispered.

"Yeah," Harry nodded, "I told you, I'm almost there."

That was a lie.

Harry hadn't bothered working on his egg clue at all. What for? He still had nearly two months after Christmas break to work on it. He had more pressing things to worry about, like how obtusely ridiculous he looked at the Yule ball, or how a little twinge of jealousy poked at him whenever he thought of Cho and Cedric, or even his frustration towards not being able to have a normal friendship with Draco in terms of his family.

"Good," she said with a smile and followed with a glance up at the enchanted ceiling, "would you look at that? It's only breakfast and it's already snowing."

Harry followed her gaze, and true to her word, he could see minuscule globs of snow falling gracefully from the sky.

Harry had always liked snow in both its appearance and snow ball war enhancing properties. "After lessons today we should go outside and play in it," he announced, aiming his suggestion at whoever would listen.

Ron nodded, "We should ambush Malfoy."

Harry laughed and agreed, "Totally, he's the only non-Gryffindor of the group. How about five? That way we'll have a little time to go wash up – or dry up I should say – before dinner."

Ron nodded again, "Dean, Seamus, you in? Okay great. Right, let's tell Malfoy to be there at five, and we'll all show up at ten till. Aim for his hair, if we hit him right he might start crying."

"He wouldn't _cry_," Harry argued.

Ron's eyes narrowed, "Bet on it?"

"No way! I'm not betting on whether one of my best friends will start crying after being assaulted with frozen balls of ice."

"It's not ice, its snow."

"Snow _is _ice."

"Yes, little ice. It's not like being pelted with ice cubes."

"Technically it is."

"Are you trying to tell me that I could technically pelt Malfoy with ice cubes?"

"Ron! What? No! You're impossible."

Ron grinned largely, "Don't worry, Harry, I won't hit your boyfriend with ice cubes."

Harry felt his stomach jolt at the word "boyfriend." He was about to start arguing that Draco was one-hundred percent, definitely, without a doubt _not_ his boyfriend, but he decided such a vicious protest would arouse even harsher teasing.

He heard Dean Thomas laugh menacingly and whisper, "Right on cue. Blond git at one o' clock."

Harry and Ron looked up, and as said, Draco was strutting from the Slytherin table to theirs as he did usually in the morning.

"Good morning, my Gryffindor schoolmates," he greeted. Harry scooted to the side so that Draco could take his place next to him. As customary, some of the other Slytherin fourth years were making faces of disgust at Draco's willing association with the Gryffindors. Harry felt a small swelling of pride inside him that Draco was willing to make his house members angry and even embarrassed so that he could sit with _him_.

"Mornin'" answered a chorus of Harry and his friends, attempting to act natural despite the heinous plan of sabotage they had just been discussing.

Draco reached across the table to grab a muffin, "Well, am I glad to be so well received by you all."

"I think they're just stunned by your outrageous good looks," Harry said, immediately regretting doing so. What if Draco thought that Harry thought him handsome? Harry didn't think so. Or did he? Did Harry think Draco was handsome? No. Yes. Yes, he did. Not in the way girls thought he was handsome. Or did he? No, definitely not. It wasn't his fault Draco had perfectly smooth skin, angelic hair, and a crisp jaw line. He supposed boys noticed these things on other boys to a certain extent. It wasn't like Harry was going to go _lick_ his perfectly crisp jawline or anything.

Draco raised his eyebrows, "Why thank you, Harold."

"Hey! If you can call me 'Harold,' I should be able to call you 'Drake,'" He protested.

Draco shook his head, "That is where you are mistaken, my dear Harold. Harold _could_ be your name; you just prefer to go by 'Harry.' 'Drake;' however, is not and never was intended to be my name. Check mate, Potty."

"Oh-ho-ho, look at you and your big words. You don't scare me." Harry challenged, squinting his eyes.

Draco was about to retort, when Ron interrupted as usual, "If you two could stop flirting for a second – yes, thanks. Malfoy, we're all going to go have some fun in the snow after today's lessons, you coming with?"

Draco looked incredulous, "Weasley, are you asking me out on a date?"

Harry nearly choked on his tea, and Ron crossed his arms, "No, but I bet you'd want that, wouldn't you."

"Hardly," Draco scoffed.

Ron sighed, "So you want to come or not? It was Harry's idea."

Draco turned to Harry, "Obviously. Sure, what time? Out by the lake, I presume?"

"Yeah," Harry confirmed, "and…er, five. Five o' clock." He tried not to smile.

Draco nodded with a grin, "It's on."

"Harry, Ron," Hermione said suddenly and stood up, "We should get ready for class."

Draco stood up also, "I agree with Hermione."

Every head within earshot turned to look at the standing boy and girl and Hermione croaked out, "Did you… Did you just call me 'Hermione.'"

Draco nodded, "Yes."

"Oh. Well. Thank you, Draco."

Draco nodded once again, "Don't count on me calling Weasley by his given name yet, though. I'm working on it. There's only so much I can handle."

Harry grinned; Draco and Hermione had always gotten along better than Draco and Ron, due to their high intellect and value for education. He'd never thought they'd go so far as a first name basis; however.

Ron sighed, putting his spoon down and standing to join the others, followed by Harry. Little did Draco know that their friendly snowy get-together would be run by serious fighting tactics and guerilla warfare.

Lessons went by rather slowly that day. Being the last day before the holidays, it was bound to be so due to the students' excitement and anticipation. As hoped, the snow had not subsided all day, and by four o'clock there was a thick blanket of it on the grounds. Harry looked out the common room window; a few students had apparently cultivated the same idea as he and were running through the snow.

Getting up from his seat by the window, he walked over to where Hermione was forcing Ron to complete his homework before the fight. Harry had finished his earlier, as he had less than Ron because he had taken the time in History of Magic to complete his other class's assignments and only had History of Magic to complete afterwards. He sat next to Hermione on the couch, stretching out his legs and slouching against the cushions. He sighed contently and drummed his fingers against the arm rest.

Ron looked up from his parchment, "Don't get all tired, Harry! We have to be swift and alert when we wreak havoc upon Malfoy."

Harry nodded, "Alright, alright. What time is it anyway?"

Hermione looked at her watch, "Quarter till," she informed.

"Blimey!" Ron jumped up, "Are you kidding? Jesus – we – we have to get our cloaks on! Oh my – Hermione how could you let me sit here doing Binns's work while I could be getting ready?" He looked around the room, spotting Dean and Seamus playing chess in the other corner, "Dean, Seamus, get your cloaks on, we're going in a bit."

The other two nodded, putting their chess game away. Harry could have made a joke about how eager Ron seemed to roll around in the snow with Draco, but he refrained. Standing up from his lazy position, he reached over to the other side of the couch where the trio had put their cloaks. He slipped his on, and waited for the rest of the lot to do the same. When they had, they, Dean, and Seamus started on their way to the arranged attack point. Harry was rather surprised that Hermione had chosen to participate, but happy that she had.

By the lake, there was a portion of the forest that extended slightly, making the perfect hide out for a group of teenagers waiting to ambush their classmate with snowballs. They hid themselves just as Harry's watch read _4:53_. A few minutes later, with every eye in the group focused on where Draco would emerge from, he did. Draco walked from the door towards the lake and forest where they were hidden. As he walked, he tried desperately to force the few strands of hair that commonly refused to stay combed to the side as he liked them. Harry stifled a laugh – it was so like Draco to groom his hair when he knew it would get ruined in the snow play. What he didn't know; however, was that as he stood a mere ten feet from the trees behind which Harry, Ron, Hermione, Dean, and Seamus were hidden, he was just seconds away from certain peril.

Harry looked over to Ron and nodded, receiving a grin from Ron, who then gave a thumbs-up to the rest of the group, and began to scoop up the snow that sat at his feet. Unfortunately, since they were under trees, the snow was noticeably thinner here, and dirtier also. Harry followed the motion, and mouthed 'now' to the others when they had all done the same. With screams, they threw themselves out of the trees and hurled their snowballs. Draco turned around quickly, his face twisted into a comical expression of surprise and his already misbehaving hair flopping into his face as five snow balls hit him on his face and torso. He yelped, in shock and the Gryffindors howled in laughter.

"I'm going to –" he started loudly, and scooped up his own massive snow ball and tossed it right into Ron's face.

Ron yelled out in anger, picking up yet another snow ball and aimed for Draco. Soon, the Gryffindors had turned against each other, every man for himself, and started pelting each other with snow. The group was screaming and laughing, and Ron tried to throw his (probably) five-thousandth snow ball at Draco, but hit Harry instead. Draco doubled over in laughter as Harry threw a snowball at him for doing so.

Draco had had enough, and charged himself at Harry. He didn't even bother throwing the snow clump in his hand, and instead smashed his hand against Harry's face, loosing balance and toppling himself and the black haired boy backwards into the snow. Harry frantically tried to wipe the snow off his face and smush his own snow into Draco's at the same time.

"You," _smash_, "are disgusting!" Draco shouted over Harry's laughter, and was finally able to grab the other boy's wrists, pinning them by Harry's head.

Harry struggled, sputtering random words of protest while Draco laughed at his suffering. Harry finally calmed down, admitting defeat, at least until he realized that he was pinned to the ground with Draco sitting on top of him.

He automatically found it was hard to breathe as he looked up at his friend, who had also stopped laughing, leaving just a ghost of his smile on his face. They were both breathing heavily, and the wisps of visible breath mingled together before drifting upwards every time they breathed. They just sat there – well Draco sat. On top of Harry – for the longest while, just looking at each other.

Harry realized so many things he never had before; like that Draco's hair was completely white-blond all the way down to the roots, unlike other blonds whose hair got darker at the roots. He also realized that even though they were in the cold, dry winter weather, Draco's lips weren't chapped. Lastly, he realized that he was staring at Draco's lips, which he immediately ceased.

"You know I hate you, right?" Draco finally whispered.

Harry nodded, "The feeling is mutual."

Draco nodded, smiling, and the hairs he had so recently been struggling with bobbed down, nearly brushing against Harry's forehead.

"We should get up," he said, and Harry nodded.

"Good idea."

Draco pushed off of Harry, freeing his arms, and rolled off of him. Harry stood up, and offered his hand to Draco, pulling him up off of the floor.

They both became very aware of the three others staring at them with confused and disbelieving expressions. Dean dropped the snowball that was in his hand, and it plopped into the rest of the snow.

Harry swallowed, "Well, it's nearly six. I reckon we should go get ready for dinner."

The only problem was, he didn't want to go to dinner and face the questions his friends would ask him. Even more so, he didn't want to face the questions he would ask _himself._


	7. Jewelry

**A/N: As I re-read the last chapter, I realized a silly mistake I'd made. Harry didn't go to the Burrow for Christmas until his 6th year, so I had to re-word the first few paragraphs of the last chapter. I hope you enjoy this one!**

Interrogations are seldom fun, especially if one has no answers to the questions being asked of them. As they go, the interrogation Harry was subjected to by his three classmates in their dormitory was just as bad as he'd imagined.

"So," Seamus had started, followed by Ron's, "_So_."

"So what?" Harry answered, though he knew exactly what.

Ron crossed his arms, grinning lopsidedly, "Malfoy."

"In the snow," Seamus added.

"On top of you," Dean finished.

Harry rolled his eyes, "We just fell, obviously."

Ron raised his eyebrows, "It usually doesn't take people five minutes to get up when they… '_Just fall_.'"

"And," Dean accompanied, "It seldom includes gazing into each other's eyes."

"No one was _gazing_ into anyone's eyes!" Harry insisted, exasperated.

Another lie. Harry was quite aware that there had been gazing. The thought made him momentarily fidgety; he surely hadn't meant to gaze into Draco's eyes. Obviously there had been nothing… romantic… about any of this. Though he tried to reassure himself, he couldn't forget the way the blond looked just inches away from his face, his boyish laughter glazing over into an expression of curious affection. Harry remembered his heart racing, but couldn't tell whether it was caused by any emotion, or the physical activity of a snow ball fight.

Ron rolled his eyes, "It well looked like it!"

Seamus turned to the other two, "Reckon Malfoy fancies Harry?"

Dean snickered and Ron clapped his hand to his mouth in laughter. "He does not!" Harry protested desperately.

"I bet he does," Ron said once he'd recovered from his attack of laughter, "I bet he's been in love with you the whole time!"

Seamus nodded, "Harry, think about it. You're the chosen one, considered devilishly handsome by every female in school, the complete envy of every girl lover in this entire school, and yet you're too awkward to look at any girl that isn't Hermione. You're a queer's wet dream!"

Harry rolled his eyes, "He isn't –"

"How do you _know_, Harry?" Seamus insisted.

Harry crossed his arms, "He's one of my best mates, I think I'd know. Look, we just fell. We were laughing about something I said, okay?"

That was, of course, only partially true. No one had to know that the talking and laughing had stopped about a minute before they actually got up.

The others exchanged glances, and Harry knew it was stupid to think they wouldn't continue to tease him and speculate over Draco's sexuality for the rest of his life. He sighed, "It's past midnight, could you stop bullying me and go to bed? We've got to get up for the train, you know."

To his surprise, they agreed, and went to their respective beds.

This was all great, except Harry couldn't sleep. His thoughts kept wandering back to earlier that day when he was lying in the snow, the frigid substance freezing the back of his neck. He remembered Draco's laugh, and the way he'd playfully pinned him down. Feeling a surge of affection, he hugged his torso and rolled over in bed, smiling. He then remembered the strange expression that appeared on Draco's face as he studied Harry. Maybe 'studied' wasn't the correct word; 'gazed' seemed more appropriate. He gritted his teeth at the fact that his friends were right. Draco and Harry _had_ been gazing at each other. The oddest part yet was that Harry hadn't found it uncomfortable at all. It had felt… sweet; maybe even cozy.

Harry repeatedly told himself that it had been nothing but one of Draco's classic moments of thought where his expression glazed over, and that the only reason it was out of the ordinary was their position and close proximity and willed himself to fall asleep.

The next morning after breakfast, Harry, Ron, and Hermione found themselves in a train compartment, already past their inevitable discussion of Harry's snow adventure. Harry had, surprisingly, managed to feel indifferent about it. His only thought now was about the awaiting festivities at the Burrow with Ron and his family. They'd all missed Christmas Day at the Burrow due to the Yule Ball, but since many students liked to go home for Christmas, the break time was changed this year, allowing people to visit home for a week starting two days after Christmas. Harry would have stayed at Hogwarts, but Mrs. Weasley had kindly mentioned in her note to Ron that Harry was welcome to stay at the Burrow. Since they hadn't had a recent Hogsmeade trip allowing the purchasing of Christmas presents, Harry and the Weasleys would go shopping in Diagon Alley to purchase presents for Draco, Hermione, and Dobby. Harry had been meaning to give the kind elf some new clothes for him to wear, since he was now free and dressing to his own liking.

After an hour or so, a knock was heard on their compartment door. Looking up, they saw Draco looking in through the window. He didn't look nervous, but Harry figured he was. If he weren't nervous, he wouldn't have knocked. Ron snickered and Hermione elbowed him, fighting back her own smile. Ignoring their antics, Harry motioned Draco to come in. Draco opened the door, entering the compartment. As his eyes landed on Harry, he blushed slightly. Harry raised an eyebrow and gave him a friendly smile. He was trying to nonverbally assure Draco that he didn't mind what had happened, but all he did was cause Draco to blush slightly more.

It was funny, actually; he'd never seen Draco embarrassed or flustered like this. He would have to talk to him later. When the snack trolley came by again, they'd both go out and talk.

A little after noon, the trolley did come by, and Harry said he would go get snacks, asking Draco to accompany him. He ignored Ron's wink with a grit of his teeth and asked him and Hermione what they would like from the trolley. Mentally jotting down their orders, he and Draco exited the compartment.

Once they were out of ear-shot of Ron and Hermione, Harry decided to begin the conversation.

"Are you okay?" He asked.

Draco nodded, "Of course, Potter. Why wouldn't I be?"

Harry shrugged, trying to seem casual, "You seemed flustered."

"Why would I be flustered?" he inquired, probably trying to hide his panic.

Harry shrugged again, "I dunno. Well, see Ron and the others saw the – erm – fight we had in the snow… and, well, they're teasing me about it… and I was wondering if you, like, feel bad, you know? Or awkward? But I promise you shouldn't; it's okay, really!" He added hastily.

Draco's lips turned up slightly, "Thanks. I was just –"

"Drop it, Draco. It's okay." Harry interrupted.

Draco nodded and changed the subject, "Spending Christmas with the Weasleys?"

"Yeah," Harry answered. For a moment, he considered mentioning how he'd been thinking about spending Christmas with Draco a lot, and how he thought it was unfair to the both of them considering they were best friends and yet Harry couldn't visit. Deciding it was stupid, he didn't pursue the subject.

After a moment of silence, Harry asked, "What do you want for Christmas?"

Draco looked startled for a moment and then said, "Anything sweet and full of carbs. Or Quidditch things. Oh, Quidditch posters, definitely. I'm not allowed to have them because they," he pulled a face, "look plebeian, but I could always put a permanent sticking charm on them. How about yourself?"

Harry smiled, "Surprise me."

Draco smiled back, "I suppose I'll be getting back to the Slytherins. I just wanted to make sure everything was, you know –"

"It is," Harry assured.

"Good," Draco said, "I'll stop by to say goodbye before we get off."

Harry nodded, "Alright, see you."

Draco stuck his tongue out and then turned to leave. Harry had completely forgotten about the trolley until he saw it moving down the hall. He caught up to it and ordered the treats he and his friends wanted, and then made his way back to his own compartment.

"So," Ron started automatically.

Harry groaned, "Ron, not again. He was just asking me what I wanted for Christmas."

"Don't be surprised if your late Christmas present is an engagement ring," he laughed.

"Sod off, Ron," Harry retorted.

Ron put his hands up into the air defensively, "Okay, okay, Jesus."

Harry's lips twitched into a smile, "Thanks."

The rest of the ride went quickly. As Draco had promised, he stopped by their compartment to say goodbye to Harry. As soon as he left, Ron started snickering. He was so predictable.

Harry had always been very welcomed into the Weasley's home, and this time was no different. Mrs. Weasley had prepared a marvelous dinner accompanied by a blueberry tart for desert. Harry ate the home cooking thankfully, and went to bed feeling perfectly content. Luckily, after Ron had told the twins about the snow fiasco, they only teased him for about half an hour, which for the twins was an accomplishment.

The next few days went by perfectly. They slept late, went flying in the cold, came home to hot chocolate, talked and played games until another scrumptious dinner, and went to bed at some ungodly hour. On the third day, they had gone to Diagon Alley to do some quick Christmas shopping where Ron bought Hermione some of the hair potion she had used for the Yule Ball. She had mentioned that she wanted more, but would be unable to purchase it in Hogsmeade or the Muggle world, so Ron and Harry bought her a second vile along with Harry's present, which was a book on Magical civil rights movements. On the same day, their peaceful routine was disrupted by a massive black bird landing on the windowsill of the Ron's bedroom. They were taken aback at first until they realized there was a parcel tied to the bird's leg. Harry then recognized the beast as one of the birds that would sometimes deliver packages to Draco.

"What _is_ that?" Ron asked, wide eyed.

"It's Draco's. I recognize it," Harry answered.

Harry had already prepared a package to send to Draco containing Quidditch posters of various teams he had mentioned liking and some of Mrs. Weasley's very sweet and carb-filled homemade sweets and cakes. He was going to send it with Errol, the Weasley's large, decrepit owl, but decided the gargantuan beast that had just arrived would be far more suitable for the job.

Grabbing his present for Draco from his bed on the way, he stumbled over to the window where the black bird was perched. He untied the package from its leg and attempted to give it some of the owl treats that were in a bag near the window, but the bird promptly refused, taking a bite out of the sugary muffin Harry was holding.

"Hey!" He protested, not keen on eating the rest of it now that it had dino-bird saliva on it. Honestly, even the Malfoy's _birds_ had the same personality as their masters. Sighing, he gave the bird the rest of his muffin (which was incidentally not that much), and put the package to the side. Taking Draco's present, he secured it to the bird's leg and gave it a pat on the head. The bird few off, leaving Harry and Ron alone again.

"Well?" Ron started.

Harry looked at him, "What?"

"Open it!" Ron demanded.

It wasn't a large package, about the size of a small book. Harry began undoing the wrapping, finding a box underneath the papers. It was the type of box one commonly found jewelry in.

"I swear to God, if that's a ring you'll have to owe me money," Ron said breathlessly.

Harry grumbled, "It won't be a ring." Was it a ring? It couldn't be a ring. Why would it be a ring? Was Draco insane?

Brushing the last bits of wrapping off of the box, he gently opened it, finding elegant silver pendant supported on a similarly expensive-looking silver chain. Harry lifted it gingerly from its cushioned box, observing the pendant in his hand. It had a small clip on its bottom side, indicating it would open like a locket.

"Well," Ron croaked, "It's not a ring."

Harry ignored him and proceeded to trying to open the locket unsuccessfully. It seemed to be locked shut somehow. As he was turning it over, he saw an inscription in tiny curved lettering:

_True friends will always be together in spirit._

"True friends will always be together in spirit," Harry read in a whisper, tracing his thumb along the engraved lettering.

"Mate…" he heard Ron whisper. He didn't know why they were whispering, but he didn't care. He felt himself smile, but couldn't help wondering why Draco had chosen that inscription. They'd only be apart for a week for Christmas break, so why would he choose such a quote about separation? Harry decided he must have his own Draco-esque reasons, and gently undid the clasp on the chain. He lifted the locket up to his neck, fastening it and letting it hang down onto his chest. It wasn't heavy, he could barely feel it.

When he looked up, Ron was watching him, one eyebrow raised and mouth hanging open.

"Harry…" he said.

Harry expected him to ask questions to which he did not no the answer, so he stated, "I have no idea."

Ron nodded, "That thing looks expensive… and what's with the inscription?"

"Again, no idea," he said, "I like it though."

Ron didn't understand Draco. Draco wasn't the type of person to go around giving heartfelt and meaningful presents to people. He would never spend money or _sentimentality_ on just anyone. Harry felt his heart swell with pride and affection that he and he alone earned his fondness.

Harry had convinced Ron to join him downstairs without many further questions about the locket, insisting that he didn't know anything about it, which was true. Downstairs, Mrs. Weasley and Ginny were fixing dinner, and Harry gladly helped as Ron sat at the table complaining and was later joined by Fred and George, who brought up a game of exploding snap.

It was rather peaceful, and Harry decided internally to not question Draco about the inscription, and not to send a letter of thanks, because he would have to thank him personally. Though Ron was left perfectly confused by the locket, Harry was touched.

He couldn't explain the warm and loving feeling he felt, and the butterflies in his stomach, but neither did he object.


	8. Draco's Dilemmas

**A/N: Thank you for the reviews, especially from Hazel Lance! To answer your question, no, the locket has not been opened yet. As for how it opens, you'll just have to wait and find out! To answer a second review which was posted by a belldandy55555: Honestly, I had forgotten about Sirius. Secondly, Voldemort and his supporters are present in this story, just as they are in the Harry Potter series, but as we know most of the Death Eaters were in hiding from the Voldemort lifestyle until he summoned them at the end of GoF. So, if you're referring to why Draco and Harry would be friends if his family are Voldemort supporters, then I'd answer by saying that as of now, Voldemort has no significance in their relationship. If you recall, Draco doesn't want Harry to meet his parents, and he doesn't want his parents aware of their friendship for the very reason that he knows his parents used to be Death Eaters. **

**This is going to be a short chapter, but only because the next chapter is going to be very important. As I am swamped with school work I put off all summer, I might not upload the next chapter tonight or tomorrow, but I will try! I'm taking breaks between working to write, so if I'm lucky I'll have it up by like three AM, lol. **

After Christmas, everything had changed. The upcoming second task seemed so much closer now that it was already February, and Harry was beginning to curse himself for his procrastination. Even then, he still couldn't bring himself to actually try to solve the egg clue. He had tried, he convinced himself. Each time he opened it, he got nothing but screeches. He had lucked out; however, so it seemed. Of course it was only logical for Cedric to help him, as Harry had saved him in the first task, but at first nothing made sense. Only after Harry had heeded Cedrics advice did said advice actually make sense.

The sense of security he was granted with after unlocking the egg clue was soon swept away by the body binding fear creeping upon him as the task approached. With only two weeks to go, he was beginning to feel flustered and nervous as he searched for a way to survive under water with the help of Hermione, Ron, and even Draco at times.

As with Draco, he still hadn't managed a proper 'thank-you' for the locket. Ron and the rest very much enjoyed calling it a 'necklace,' but Harry downright refused to call it anything less manly than a locket. Draco had been avoiding him a bit lately, which was just the second of the strange things that seemed to be happening circulating around him. Maybe it wasn't intentional; maybe Draco was just stressed over school and hadn't found the time. Harry tried to convince himself of this every time Draco stayed at the Slytherin table throughout the entire meal or backed out of their Muggle game nights. Due to his common absences, Harry still owed him a thank-you. He resented that Draco was being so distant, because his own boiling emotions stemming from the generous and emotional gift were overflowing. Possibly, Draco felt awkward because of his natural aversion to emotions and sentimentality. In this case, Harry decided he'd suck it up and talk to Draco. After all, how could he be _sure_ that Draco was really avoiding him? He hadn't done anything to upset him, and they were best friends after all.

Sitting in his Divination class, he hoped Draco would come to the Gryffindor table at lunch. Since they'd gotten back from vacation, he only did so about half the time anymore. Class was dismissed, and he and Ron went down to the Great Hall, knowing Hermione would meet them there. Throughout lunch, Hermione pressed that they continue working on possible techniques for the second task, and Harry admitted he agreed with her urgency, but he couldn't make himself focus until the Draco situation was taken care of. As he had hoped, Draco stood from his own table and began his walk across the Hall.

Harry felt his heart leap, and instead of scooting over, he stood up causing Draco to raise an eyebrow.

"Draco! Can – can I talk to you?" He sputtered, cursing himself for not having the suave manner that his friend did.

Draco's lips twitched as he repressed a smile, "Sure."

As Harry had forgotten about his food, he motioned Draco towards the doors, stopping just short of the entrance. Draco leaned against the wall and asked, "What is it, Harry?"

Harry dug the locket out from under his robes where it hung against his chest and smiled, "I just wanted to say thank you. Really."

Draco laughed, "That's it? Here I was thinking I was in trouble. You're welcome, though."

Harry shook his head, "That's not all," He stopped for a moment, calculating how he would continue, "I know how – erm – hard it is for you to, you know, say stuff. I mean like, show your – er – feelings. So I just… thank you. Really. You're – er – you're my best friend. I can't believe all I got you was posters and treats."

Draco didn't reply, he looked as if he was on the verge of either crying or vomiting which Harry took as an internal battle between his feelings and his paranoid need to seem cold and unfeeling. Draco nodded, smiled weakly, and nodded again, looking away.

Harry nearly laughed watching the ridiculous spectacle. Affection surged through him as he watched Draco's odd display of sheepishness, and he leaned forward, embracing him in a hug.

He felt Draco's muscles freeze, and his breathing came to a harsh stop. For a moment, Draco remained frozen. Harry then felt the other boy's arms rise to return the hug, and his face turn to bury it's self in the space between Harry's neck and shoulder. He felt Draco's hands curl into fists against his back, and then immediately release as he might have realized they were doing so. After a minute or so, Draco pulled back, and Harry could see he was violently fighting the urge to cry.

"Merlin, Draco, I'm just saying thank you," He joked.

Draco took a short breath, "I know I just –"

"It's okay," he assured.

Draco nodded, "I should go. I have class, and I haven't finished a homework assignment for it. Procrastination's terrible, isn't it?"

"You're telling me? I'm the one procrastinating on this ridiculous Triwizard task."

Draco rolled his eyes, "You'll drown, I'm sure of it."

Harry laughed, "Hopefully, that way I won't have to do the third task."

"Boy have you got your priorities in check," Draco said sarcastically.

"Whatever," Harry said, "go do your work. Or we could both take a suicide pact and I could drown while you fail out of school."

Draco grinned, "Sounds like a plan. See you later, Potter."

"See you," he closed, content but slightly curious with Draco's reaction. Draco had managed to regain his composure, but Harry hadn't forgotten about the look in his eyes after their hug. They'd hugged before, but only ever a short, friendly hug with one arm. Draco had clung to Harry almost as if he'd never hug him again.

Shaking his head, he made his way back to the Gryffindor table to suggest they spend the last twenty minutes of their lunch period researching possible ways for Harry to stay alive underwater. As usual; however, their attempt was futile and Harry was forced to go to his afternoon classes with nothing more than what he had started with.


	9. Firewhiskey

**A/N: Okay, guys! Again I'm sorry for the delays in posting, school's just started and I'm having trouble writing due to stress, so I figure better writing with bigger time spans is better than a shitty chapter uploaded every night. As always, please, please, please leave reviews! They help me improve so much and I appreciate them a lot. Thank you for being swell and reading, reviewing, following, and favoriting, now enjoy!**

Hunger was evading Harry again as the second task loomed nearer and nearer. It was one day prior, and he had only eaten one hasty half sandwich and a few gulps of pumpkin juice before heading off to the library over lunch. Life seemed to laugh in his face once more as he found himself in the library at the wee hours of the morning.

Sometime before three and four, his mind finally collapsed and he was asleep. Not long after, it seemed, he was awoken roughly by a squeaking house elf.

"Harry Potter must wake up, sir!" Dobby chirped nervously.

Harry's eyes flew open and he was suddenly aware of the teasing pain in the back of his neck, the cause being his unusual sleeping position. He lifted his face off the table, peeling the side of his reddened cheek away from the polished wood. His eyes squinted as his tired brain registered the bright morning light flowing in from the windows.

"Harry Potter, _sir_," Dobby pleaded desperately, tugging on Harry's robe sleeve, which had slid down his arm to bundle around his bent elbow. "Harry Potter must wake up! The second task starts in ten minutes and if –"

Harry's brain suddenly snapped back into action mode, "Ten minutes?" he croaked.

Hopelessness enveloped him as he realized he still had no way of surviving, and there was – literally – no way for him to attempt the task. He leaned back in the chair, rubbing his eyes. "There's no use, Dobby, I can't do the task. I've been up all through the bloody night and I still don't know –"

"Harry Potter can do the task! Dobby knows Harry Potter did not know, so Dobby did it for him!" Dobby squeaked happily.

Harry squinted his eyes, "What? You don't even know what the task is; how could –"

Dobby cut him off again, "But sir is wrong! No, excuse me! Dobby did not mean to call Sir wrong! Dobby is a bad elf! Dobby is –"

"It's okay!" Harry assured, steadying the creature by the shoulders, "How did you know?"

"Dobby knows! Dobby hears that Harry Potter must go into the lake to rescue the little master!"

Harry was officially confused, "The little master?"

Dobby twitched frantically, "The little master! Harry Potter's friend with the silvery golden hair!"

"Wait – do you mean Draco?" Harry inquired.

Dobby's eyes lit up and he jumped, stiffening his slouched body, "Yes! Dobby cannot bare to say the name of Little Master, but Harry Potter is correct!"

"They've got Draco? In the _lake_?"

Dobby nodded furiously, "Yes, yes! And Dobby knows what Harry must do!" he proceeded to pull out a shriveled plant from his pocket, "Eat this, Harry Potter! Dobby is sure, but you must go!"

Harry looked at him, taking the plant, wide eyed, "Are you sure?"

"Dobby said he is sure, sir!" Dobby assured, "Harry Potter must run!"

Harry's eyes slid to the clock – he had three minutes. He quickly pushed himself up off of the chair, scattering the books he had fallen asleep with. He handed Dobby his invisibility cloak, instructing him to take it up to his dormitory. As he ran towards the door he called over his shoulder, "Thank you, Dobby!"

He heard Dobby squeak something about always pleasing Harry Potter, but Harry hadn't cared. He felt his feet carry him clumsily out the Hogwarts door and towards the lake. Everyone was already out there, as expected.

"I'm here! I'm here!" He called out, aware of the spectacle he was making of himself. _Why is it _always _me?_ He asked himself, cursing.

He skidded to a halt, bending over to aid his breathing and clutch his aching side. Ludo Bagman turned from the group of other judges, his boyish face gleaming with relief that Harry had showed, and walked over to Harry, slapping him playfully on the shoulder. Percy Weasley saw, and he bustled over to Harry, beginning to scold him on his untimely arrival. Bagman shooed him off, and proceeded to ask Harry if he was prepared. Harry told him that he indeed was, wishing that he could believe it himself.

"Alrighty then!" Bagman said, then pointing his wand at his throat, "_Sonorus!_" his voice magnified as he presented, "Now then! With all our champions ready to compete, we will be starting in – take your places by the lake! – three, two, and _one!_"

Not aware of the other champions, Harry walked towards the water. The water was cold to the touch, and he felt small plant debris tickling his ankles. He waded deeper, feeling his robes grow heavy as water seeped into them. Letting out a breath of hope, he took the plant in his hand and stuffed it into his mouth. For a moment, nothing happened, and he was sure he would look like a fool in front of the entire school. A mere second after the thought, he felt as if something had been clamped over his mouth and nose. He gasped desperately for breath. _What has Dobby done?_ He asked himself, clamping his hands to his throat when he stopped. He had gills.

With the newfound realization, his eyes snapped to the water in front of him, and he did the sensible thing: he dug his toes into the muddy sand for grip and plunged himself into the water. The water filling his gills was like the first breath of life, and his head immediately began to stop spinning, and his lungs felt healthy again. He swam around, facing the lake's obstacles for what seemed like forever until he saw.

His eyes finally came upon four floating figures in the dark green water. Next to them, he saw mermen, presumably guarding the hostages. He swam carefully forward, prepared to dart back if attacked, but no such precautions were necessary. Draco was tied up at the bottom of the lake along with Hermione, Cho, and a beautiful young girl whom Harry assumed was in relation to Fleur. As he floated just two feet away from Draco's tied up body, he looked to the side at the nearest merman. The merman nodded tightly, not forgetting to leer menacingly in Harry's direction.

Before he could proceed in any manner, Cedric appeared, nodding once to Harry and saying slowly, "Go! Krum and Fleur are on their way," and then turned to the hostages. With relief, Harry watched Cedric free Cho, nod again to Harry, and swim towards the surface. As the last glimpse of Cedric's swimming form disappeared, he saw Krum emerge from the dark. Apparently, he had tried to transfigure himself, but had botched the entire ordeal. The man had the head of a shark, and began biting violently at Hermione's ropes. It would have looked funny to Harry if there hadn't been the probability that he would bite Hermione's head off. Tapping Krum on the shoulder, he pointed to some sharp rocks on the ground. Krum dove for them, and cut Hermione loose. Without a word (probably due to his sub-human head), Krum swam in the direction of Cedric: Up.

Harry turned back to Draco, they and the Delacour girl were alone now in the circle of mer-people. For the most profound time, he realized how beautiful he really was. Draco's normally combed blond hair swirled gracefully, framing his face as if an angelic halo had appeared around him. His eyes were closed, and his long platinum lashes gently caressed the soft skin under his eyes. The dim, green-tinted lighting softened his already sleep-muted facial features, giving him a serene and blissful appearance producing a contrast to the emotionally strained look he had been portraying as of late. Lastly, his soft lips, the color of roses against creme-colored bed sheets, were parted ever so slightly as if enticing only the worthiest of patrons upon them…

Harry jerked back in surprise. His thumb had been gingerly stroking a strand of hair that had wilted down by Draco's eyebrow. Harry shook his head, returning his attention to the merman, who was whispering to a partner.

"Hello?" Harry tried to call out, resulting in a mess of bubbles erupting from his lips, "Hello?"

His attention being grasped by Harry's waterlogged mumbles, the merman turned to face Harry, a curious yet amused expression on his face.

"Help me!" Harry tried to say.

The merman laughed, "We do not help," he replied.

Harry exhaled angrily, proceeding to search his surroundings for a tool he could use to set Draco loose. He spotted the same group of rocks he had pointed out to Krum, and dove for them. He tugged at a few, loosening one and holding it in his grasp. He ran his finger alongside of it, and felt a soft sting in the skin. He mumbled a quick thank you to the inanimate object for being so wonderfully sharp, and began to cut at Draco's ropes. With mediocre effort, the boy was free, delicately floating in a similar space.

Now his mind was really focused on Fleur! Where _was _she? Surely it was well near, if not over, the time limit. What if she had given up? Or gotten lost? Or worse? Shooting a quick glance into the darkness that was the surrounding waters, he tugged Draco's limp form next to himself, and began cutting at the little girl's ropes. Before he could make any progress, he felt a tight grip on his lower forearm, and jumped back to see the intimidating merman.

"You take only your hostage," He said monotonously.

"What?" Harry tried to protest, "I can't just leave her here!"

The merman shook his head, his gaze sterner than ever, "You take only your friend."

"But she's just a little girl! I can't just leave her here!" He raged, pointing to each respective person as he spoke.

The merman advanced, swimming towards the girl. Instinctively, Harry drew his wand and the mer-people froze. They began babbling, and judging by their frantic tones they had understood.

"You have until three," Harry threatened, raising his fingers as he counted, "One…two…three…" Although before he had finished, the mer-people had scattered, leaving the mostly sleeping trio alone in the waters. Harry lifted the hand that held the sharp rock again, and raised it to the Delacour girl's ropes. He cut her loose, and could feel a tight feeling in his gils. Realizing he had limited time until the gillyweed wore off, he tore upwards to the surface.

The two people in his hands were like potato sacks, weighing him down as he desperately tried to swim up. His lungs shrieking in agony and his un-webbed feet feeling strangely small, he broke the surface to the sound of an erupting crowd.

He propped the child up on his hip and held Draco tightly to his chest. A semiconscious Draco groaned, and Harry guessed he opened his eyes because suddenly his limbs flailed, alerting the girl and making Harry stumble backwards and swallow a gulp of lake water.

"Ugh!" Draco complained, throwing his hair back with his wrist. He looked at Harry and then at the girl he was supporting, "Don't tell me. Don't bloody tell me."

Harry gave him a confused expression and Draco laughed, "You're telling me. I can't believe this! You forfeited your chance in the task to play the hero! Potter, you're an idiot."

"What?" Harry asked.

Draco lifted his eyebrows, paddling his feet faster as he crossed his arms, keeping himself steady in the water, "She was going to be okay, honestly. Do you really think Dumbledore would let kids drown for kicks and giggles?"

Harry felt like an idiot. He had barely time to mourn his stupidity when he was being pulled out of the water.

A frantic female voice rang in his ears, "Gabrielle! Gabrielle, eez she 'urt?" Fleur asked, scooping the dazed girl into her arms.

"She's okay!" Harry assured. He heard Draco scoff next to him and he kicked him in the ankle lightly in retaliation.

"Harry!" He heard Hermione and Ron shout in unison.

He turned to them, embracing the frantic Hermione in a hug, "Oh, Harry! Did you have trouble finding us? Were you hurt?"

"No I…I found you okay." He said as Draco made no attempt to hide his laughter. Harry felt incredibly stupid.

Ron had a lopsided grin on his face, "So… anyone going to talk about how the hostages were who the champions would miss most?"

Harry looked at Hermione and then at Draco, all of them sporting awkward expressions. "Err…" he said.

Ron cackled loudly, "Don't expect me to let _this_," He pointed between Harry and Draco, "go down easily."

Harry muttered a few annoyed choice words and then he and Draco were hurried away by Madam Pomfrey. She cleaned and warmed them up in time for the scores to be announced. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Draco, and everyone else listened in awe as Harry avoided the almost certain bad placing due to his "moral fiber."

Harry and Draco had to stay to talk to the judges while the rest of the school was filed inside. Gryffindor would be having another party, no doubt, and Harry was glad. He was _starving_. It was well after noon, of course, and he hadn't had lunch and breakfast. Leave it up to his fellow Gryffindors, though, to snag some snacks from the kitchens. At last, after having few too many words with the present adults, the two of them headed back up to the castle.

It was as if the past few weeks had vanished. Draco was himself around Harry again. Granted, he'd always acted like a cold bastard to nearly everyone else, but he'd always been friendly to Harry. He was glad Draco was a friend again.

They could already hear the music out in the corridors. His happiness swelling, Harry and Draco were met with an eruption of music and congratulations.

"Good job, Harry!"

"You'll win it, mate!"

"Blondie's lucky to have you!"

Harry laughed happily, particularly enjoying the "blondie" comment, and made his way through the crowd to the luxurious snack table. He helped himself to fresh sandwiches, butterbeer, and various assorted cookies.

Harry had completely lost track of time, as one often did in times of pure bliss. He' downed at least a butterbeer and two firewhiskeys courtesy of Fred, George, and some older jokesters, and was strutting along to the music, shaking hands with anyone near enough. Draco, he could see, was loosening up under influences too.

At some point, Draco had grabbed him, pulling him up to stand alongside him on the coffee table. Everyone's attention was on them, and Draco began to speak loudly over the music after recovering from a fit of spontaneous drunken laughter.

Draco grabbed Harry's wrist, holding his hand up in the air triumphantly, "I, Draco Malfoy, would like to thank this young man, for diving head first into the waters of peril," he made a sweeping gesture with Harry's hand, "untying me from my malicious restraints, fighting off tens of thousands of horrid creatures," he paused to laugh again as he was making Harry's right arm do punching movements, and Harry was controlling his other arm in a similar fashion. "And – and," he wiped a fake tear, "bringing me to my safety. Give it up for Harry Potter!" He shouted, and the crowd cheered, throwing their napkins up into the air. Draco whipped his face around to look at Harry, his hair flopping playfully across his forehead, refusing to stay combed by his ear as he liked it, and his face flushed with laughter and silver eyes shining. Harry's stomach surged and he jerked the hand that was holding his towards him, throwing Draco against his own body.

It was only when the music had stopped that he registered the soft hair entwined in his fingers and the warm lips pressed against his.

Backing off instantly as Draco dropped his hand, Harry stared at the other boy in shock. The room was silent for a handful of torturous seconds until Draco sneered, a sick, insane smile on his face, "Harry Potter, the boy who lived – to be a _rainbow prancing poof_." With one last confident move of his hand, he smoothed his hair back and exited the room without a word.

Harry felt his eyes burning and the effort it took to swallow was nearly not worth it. He turned his head, looking at the silent, dumbfounded crowd, and lastly at Ron and Hermione. The crowd had parted away from them, almost as they were infected.

"Harry, mate," Ron said, a confused and pained expression painted across his face.

Harry couldn't bare it, his head shot back from left to right, and his legs sprinted him directly up the stairs to the dormitory. Locking the door, he leaned against it and slid down to the floor. He raised a finger to his lips; he could still taste the firewhiskey from Draco's lips.


	10. Death March

**A/N: I'm posting this at 3 AM omg... I really hope you guys are liking this :3 At first (in the earlier chapters I mean), I feel like my writing is a bit awkward, so I apologize if it is! I'm also trying quite hard to stretch the plot out, as I'm one of those writers who has two or three major, emotional events planned out in a story and then is stumped at what to write in between. Anyway, please read and review! **

Harry had only had time to put his face in his hands before he heard someone rustle the door knob.

"Harry!" Ron's voice called out.

"Leave me alone," Harry answered; he didn't know what he would say to him.

Hermione was apparently with him, for she pleaded, "Harry, please. We just want to talk."

Harry laughed darkly in the back of his mind; they almost sounded like parents. "No."

"Harry, why not?" Hermione asked again.

Harry had no answer, "I don't know."

"Please, mate? Just let us in," Ron said with another jostle of the doorknob.

Harry sighed, figuring he'd have to talk to someone at some point. He slowly dragged himself up, breathing a heavy sigh, and opened the door. Ron and Hermione were standing shoulder to shoulder, both with expressions of mass confusion on their faces.

Without a word, Harry walked back to sit on his bed. Ron and Hermione followed, Hermione sitting next to him and Ron sitting on his bed, facing Harry.

"So," He began cautiously.

"I don't know why I did it," Harry announced, killing the elephant in the room with one blow.

Hermione had crossed her legs as she sat on the bed, "Well, you're a bit drunk, I suppose. Maybe you didn't even mean to."

"I _didn't_ mean to," Harry confirmed. "But…"

"But what?" Ron questioned.

Harry bit his lips, "I suppose…now that I look back on it…I wanted to. I guess." Verbalizing the feelings he'd been subconsciously locking up sounded awkward; really awkward.

Ron's eyebrows furrowed, "_Wanted_ to? But Harry, are you even –"

"I don't know!" Harry cried. "I don't know anything! I just – he's one of my best friends, and I just felt this – this surge of affection, and I just…"

Hermione put her arm on his, "It's okay, Harry. I'm sure you'll just talk it out. Plus, alcohol can make you do weird things."

Ron nodded, "Remember during the first task party when that sixth year girl started casting disillusionment charms on people's pants? I'm sure she wouldn't have done that without a few firewhiskeys in her system."

Harry tried to smile, "I feel like this is different, though." He didn't want to discuss his feelings; he never wanted to, but he had to figure this out somehow. He took a deep breath, willing himself to continue, "Remember that time before Christmas, when we fell over in the snow?"

Ron grinned, "Vividly." His comment resulted in a glare from Hermione, unseen by Harry.

"I remember, you know, just looking at him. And," Harry winced, vastly uncomfortable verbalizing the sentimentality, "I kind of thought he was beautiful."

"Well, he is attractive, I suppose," Hermione responded.

"Yeah," Ron said, "in like a really feminine and graceful sort of way. I mean, if you're into that sort of thing. And by 'that sort of thing' I meant 'men.'"

Hermione's face was serious yet compassionate, "Are you? I mean, are you attracted to men?"

The question hit Harry like a sudden gust of wind; the kind that made you stagger and drop your papers, losing them to the gust that blew them down the street. "No!" He immediately cried. No sooner did the words come out of his mind than did a second gust of wind blow him off of his mental feet.

He _was_ attracted to Draco.

How had he not seen it? All his life he'd thought Draco was beautiful, and he could remember the distraction and the burning in his cheeks when the boy's sweaty hair had to be swept off of his face with his fingers after a day of flying. And he could remember the feeling of his heart racing when Draco would fall asleep while studying for exams and his head would fall onto Harry's shoulder. And he could almost feel again the protest his body gave after pulling out of every hug.

He reached up to touch his lips again, remembering how they'd touched Draco's warm smile. That smile he only gave Harry; it was Harry's smile, and only his. As he gently touched his lip, he felt his hand trembling.

He looked up, "Draco," He told them, "I think I might love him."

Though he hadn't answered Hermione's question directly, she leaned in closer, putting her arms around his shoulders to give him a hug.

Harry looked up at Ron, expecting devastation and anger to fill his face, but he was once more surprised that night. "Ron?" he asked.

"Yeah?"

"Are you mad?" Harry's voice was soft, afraid to even address his friend.

Ron smiled, "What? Just because you like a bloke? Come on, Harry, I've got more pressing things to worry about."

Harry felt his lips pull up to return the smile, "Thanks."

"Will you go talk to him?" Hermione asked.

Harry pulled his face into a look of wariness, "Go down to the Slytherin common room?"

"You've done it loads of times before," Ron said.

Harry laughed coldly, "Yeah, that's before I kissed him."

"Oh, right."

Harry crossed his arms and sat back, next to Hermione, "'Oh, right,'" he mocked, "You've hardly forgotten _yet_?"

Ron pouted, "Nope."

Harry sighed, "I'll try and talk to him tomorrow, I guess. Or whenever I see him next."

Ron and Hermione both gave him nods of affirmation, and he swallowed thickly. For just about the first time, he was nervous to talk to Draco.

The next day came quickly through sleep. Harry half expected the world to halt, for it had no right to keep going at a time like this. No one had a right to live and laugh when Harry was in danger of losing his best friend.

Harry went to breakfast late. It took all the effort he could muster to drag himself out of bed. The pessimistic side of him was taking over, and he had to continuously tell himself that he didn't _know_ if Draco hated him or not.

His fears; nonetheless, were stamped upon his mind so fiercely that they penetrated his sleep and defiled his dreams. He had no nightmares, but the images he faced that night were more terrifying to Harry than the bloodiest of visions. He dreamt of the hair that fell in Draco's eyes and the way his eyelashes tickled the skin below them as he slept. He dreamt of the carefree laugh he'd only emit only to Harry. He dreamt of the playful, competitive grins he'd catch during Quidditch games. He dreamt of everything he feared so deeply that he'd have to live without.

Even as he'd woken up that dreadful morning, the first thing on his mind was Draco's face in that dimly lit light of the party the night before. The way his lips were twisted into that rabid smile that Harry couldn't bring himself to understand. He was typically quite good at deciphering Draco's emotions, but this was one that Harry hadn't seen before. It was a smile of coldblooded relief; a smile that a starving man stricken with hungry insanity would present upon seeing his friend dead, leaving him alone on an island with a replenished supply of food courtesy of his disposed body.

The Great Hall was full, and Harry made his way to the spot Ron and Hermione had left him. As he approached the table, every eye turned to look at him. A sandy haired boy whispered something to Seamus, and Seamus returned the whisper with something Harry guessed as an argument. When the boy whispered back, Seamus glanced at Harry and then proceeded to scoot away, as if Harry carried a dangerous disease. Harry winced inwardly; it seemed Draco wasn't the only friend he'd lost.

_No matter_, Harry thought. It was just like the beginning of the year when everyone had thought Harry put his name in the Goblet of Fire.

Instinctively, he looked over at the Slytherin table. He felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach, being Draco was eating and laughing as if nothing had happened. He didn't even _notice_ Harry standing there, looking at him from across the Hall.

"Harry, sit down…" He heard Hermione whisper with a tug of his robes.

Snapping back to reality, Harry sat down, resulting in more scooching and whispers. He stared blankly at the table as Hermione offered him food and Ron tried to make conversation. He didn't have the energy to talk or eat; he simply squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. He couldn't bare it. To think that everyone at the table had seen what he couldn't help but play back in his mind. They had seen every second of it. From the way Harry pulled Draco to him, from their lips touching and Harry's fingers running through the back of Draco's shining hair, to Draco's maniac smile, and to the way he'd smoothly left the room. They'd seen it. They'd seen it all. The thing Harry had kept secret even to himself was now out for everyone to see like undergarments tied to a flagpole.

He once again brought his glance back to the far-away Draco. As he watched, he saw Pansy Parkinson glance over at him then whisper something to Draco. Harry couldn't watch. He yearned to be in her position, with her shoulder brushing against Draco's and his face a mere foot away from hers. He'd always appreciated Draco, even wondered how on Earth he'd been granted such a person, but now he wished he'd done more to hold him close. He wondered if maybe he'd admitted his own feelings to himself, and discussed them instead of shoving them – literally, with his lips – into Draco's face, then maybe the perfect thing he'd been granted with wouldn't be gone.

He didn't have his first class with Draco, and he was glad. He wasn't sure how he could ever face him. As the day trudged by, Harry was in a stupor. This was like nothing he'd ever faced before. It was so different to lose someone whom you didn't truly lose. He would see Draco every day and hear his voice every day. What he wouldn't see is the smile he hid behind his cool exterior and he wouldn't hear the laugh only erupting after Harry presented his humor. It wasn't like losing Ron, though, either. With Ron he'd been angry; angry that Ron was so thick and misunderstanding towards him. With Draco it was Harry's mistake that had pushed him away. How dreadful it felt to have the one he loved hate him so.

Potions class rolled around, enforcing a stronger feeling of dread than ever. As he entered the classroom, the feeling of being punched in the stomach gave an encore. Harry realized he wouldn't be sitting next to Draco this class. He'd sat with just Ron or Hermione many times before, so it wasn't like that upset him. It was that he'd never needed Draco so much as he did now. He'd never wanted to sit with him so much as in that moment.

Nevertheless, he made his way to sit next to Hermione and Ron. He threw his possessions down and slumped in his seat. He'd rather drown himself in the cauldrons in front of him than brew potions, honestly. Harry couldn't help but throw glances towards Draco every few minutes. Draco wasn't laughing now; he had a fixated expression on his pale face. Harry vowed to pull him aside at the end of class. What did he have to be afraid of? Harry had been friends with Draco for years, and this _was_ the same person.

"Mr. Potter," droned a voice in front of him. Harry hadn't been working; he had simply been sitting in a seat, staring at his hands and thinking as he had in all of his other classes.

His head snapped up, "Yes, Professor?" he croaked.

"My class does not make any exceptions for students'…ah…hormonal pursuits; whether they were successful or not. I will tell you once to get to work, or I'm afraid I'll do worse than deduct points. And, yes, twenty-five points from Gryffindor from slacking off in my class." Normally, Harry would have retorted, but he allowed Snape to continue out of sheer emotional and mental exhaustion, " You may be quite the lady's man – oh, pardon me – men's man, but that does not mean I will permit you not to work."

That hit him. He knew. Everyone knew. The Slytherins knew. Harry could feel himself retreating even further into his shell at the thought. Did the whole school know? Did every living soul at Hogwarts know that he had kissed, and had been rejected by Draco Malfoy?

"Yes, sir," Harry responded to Snape's obvious surprise. He stood up and silently went to work, reading the book instructions rather than asking for help. He was barely sure if he even had enough strength to conjure a voice.

Packing up at the end of class hadn't taken long due to the fact that Harry had barely taken anything out. He slipped his book into his bag and walked over to where Draco and some second Slytherin he didn't care about were packing up.

"Draco," he spoke nervously and quietly.

Draco turned, "That's Malfoy to you, and what?" His voice wasn't angry; it was assertive.

Harry tightened his grip on his bag, feeling as if he was going to faint. "Can I talk to you?"

"Like hell you will!" yelled the Slytherin next to Draco.

Draco put his hand up, "It's alright, Bartholomew, I'll be along in a moment, I presume. Tell dear Ellen I'll sit with her when I get to class."

Harry thought aloud, "Who's Ellen?"

Draco curled his lip in a smile, "A friend, and also none of your business."

"Draco, can I –"

"_Malfoy_."

Harry winced, "_Draco_," he said with a sudden new strength, "I can explain. Well, actually I can't since I have no idea why I… you know… but please just hear me out."

"Why should I?" he asked, a bored expression fixed onto his face.

"Because you're my best friend, and I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. Please just –"

Draco sighed, "I have no time for this, Potter. I'd really rather get to class than be bored by you."

"_Bored_ by me? But I just want to explain!" Harry cried.

Draco shrugged, and Harry took it as an opportunity to continue, "I don't know; I didn't know I liked you! Well, I did, but only in the back of my mind. Last night just slipped out of me! I swear! I wish I could take it back and I wish you'd forgive me because I love you and I hate myself for doing anything to make you mad. I had no idea, and if I did I'd talk to you first before doing something like that, really."

Draco was staring at him, with a similar face to the one he had in the Great Hall the day that they'd hugged for the last time. Before Harry could process the boy's facial expression; however, his lips had curved into a sinister smile.

"Well," he said and picked up his bag, "Then it looks like that cupboard under your uncle's stairs isn't the only closet you've had to come crawling out of." And yet again, Draco turned his back to Harry and walked out the door.

Harry looked after him this time, and felt his knees go weak. He sat in the nearest chair, still staring at the door out of which Draco had just walked. If he had felt bad this morning, he must have been dying now. He could feel his eyes burning, but he refused to cry. He picked himself up, running a hand through his hair.

He grabbed his own bag and walked towards the door, and every step felt like a death march.


	11. Breakfast

**A/N: Heads up you guys! Don't get too upset now! As always, thank you for the reviews especially from amaya-chan22! Your review made me smile so hard (plus I was reading it while listening to Sunrise over the Ocean by Tim Janis which made it a very mystical and dramatic experience). **

The next morning, the empty hole that he'd been drowning in was filled with something new: Anger. His heart and mind were now in a constant battle over whether he should fall down and cry into his pillow or pick the pillow up, stick a photo of Draco's face onto it, and hex it into nonexistence.

Rolling over in bed, he threw his covers off and slammed his feet into his slippers. Deciding his slippers were too soft for his current mood, he bent down and ripped them off his feet, throwing them at the wall in rage.

In the next bed, Ron groaned, "Harry, whatter you—"

"I'm so_ angry_!" He bellowed, "I talked to him yesterday, Ron! You know what he did? He made some stupid closet joke and went off to class with his – with his _girlfriend_."

Ron sat up, "He has a _girlfriend_?"

Harry gnarled his hands in his hair, "I don't know! There's some girl he was talking about sitting with in class named Ellen."

"Well… Just because he's sitting in class with her doesn't mean they're also snogging in the empty 7th floor corridors…" Ron explained.

Harry threw himself down onto his own bed, "I know that! And can you please not mention him _snogging_ anyone!"

Ron grimaced, "Right, sorry… Whatever, don't get angry. It's not like he's any good at queer jokes. I mean come on! What kind of an insult is 'rainbow prancing poof?'"

"EXACTLY!" Harry shouted, jumping up off of his bed, "WHO DOES HE THINK HE IS? HOW DARE HE JUST THROW LAME INSULTS AT ME FOR NO REASON? I –"

"Well you _did_ kiss him," Ron reminded.

Harry crossed his arms, "Would you insult me and ignore me if I kissed _you_?"

Ron shied away, "Oh, Merlin, don't."

Dropping his arms and exhaling loudly, "You're unbearable!" He left Ron sitting there and slammed the door on the way out.

He realized he hadn't changed out of his pajamas, but there was no way he was going back upstairs now. He'd rather miss breakfast than go face Ron again. On second thought, he'd _gladly _miss breakfast. As he stormed into the common room, several heads including those of Dean and Seamus turned his way.

"What?" He demanded, "Go ahead! Stare at me! Stare at me like I'm not the exact same bloke I was a week ago!"

Silence.

Harry put his hands on his hips, "Really? You all out of closet jokes? I'm surprised; you're losing your game against the Slytherins aren't you?"

He noticed Hermione sitting a few feet away from Dean, and they looked at each other briefly. Dean then looked at Seamus and the three of them stood up.

"Harry," Seamus began,

Dean added, "We'd like to apologize."

Harry couldn't mask his surprise, "What?"

"They said they'd like to apologize," Hermione said gently.

Harry crossed his arms, "Fine."

"Ron," Hermione said, and Harry turned around to see Ron standing in the stairwell. "Harry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean –"

"It's fine." He said.

After an awkward silence, Harry announced, "I'm going to go take a shower."

The four nodded, and Harry turned back up the stairs to his dormitory to grab a change of clothes. Once he had done so, he made his way to the showers. Thankfully, they were empty as most people would be at breakfast. Breakfast was an hour, and it had only started twenty minutes ago. If Harry hurried, he would still have time to eat. Not like he wanted to, though. He vaguely wondered if he could ask Dobby to bring him food to the dormitory as to not have to face his peers – and Draco – in the Great Hall.

His shower took him ten minutes, and he finally stepped out into the steamy outer room. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he leaned over to grab another for his hair. He wrapped the towel around his head and went to the sink to brush his teeth. His toothbrush was in a little holder with his initials on it, and he removed it. He stopped brushing his teeth for a moment to remove the towel from his head, and as he did so, his eyes landed on a shining silver object in the mirror.

Across his chest lied the silver locket Draco had given him. He rinsed his mouth and put his brush away, taking the locket in his hands.

_True friends will always be together in spirit._

"Right," Harry muttered. He ought to have taken the locket off, thrown it against the hard floor and cursed it apart, but he didn't. He couldn't.

He took the delicate silver pendulum into his palm. He tried again to open it, but the locket insisted on staying shut. For such a beautiful, gentle object, it was so strong. He curled his fingers around it and held it to his chest. He put his other forearm against his forehead to cushion it as he leaned headfirst against the wall. Only then, alone, half naked in the bathroom, clutching the silver locket like a lifeline, did he cry.

He felt his throat loosen as tears broke through the walls he had tried so hard to erect. It was half a lifetime of love that been ripped from him; almost as if a part of him had been taken away. The one person who understood him, the other side of his coin, was gone. And he was still in love with him.

Anger flooding back into him, he forced himself to stop crying, feeling weak. His stomach growled loudly and he used his hand to try and suppress it to no avail. He stood, straightened up, and turned the cold water handle until water was shooting out strongly. He splashed water onto his face and dried it. His clothing and robes were in a pile on a bench near the door, and he put them on. As he stood in front of the mirror, looking himself in the eye. Without breaking contact, he tucked the locket back under his shirt and fixed his tie. Throughout the process, he practiced his face of strength, and in that moment he swore that he could not be broken down by Draco Malfoy.

Harry decided he would not go to breakfast; he couldn't risk getting emotional just yet. Throughout the walk back to his dormitory, he was strangely aware of the locket against his skin. He nudged it lightly through his clothes absentmindedly. As he opened the door, he flung his pajamas onto the floor next to his bed, and pulled back his bed curtains.

There sitting on his neatly made bed was a polished wooden tray with two plates, a large glass of milk and a card that read, "_Mr. Harry Potter_" in elegant golden lettering. He flipped the card over, as if to see if there was a note. There wasn't.

He silently thanked Ron and Hermione for sending the house elves that made their beds along with a tray of food.

The plates were hidden with silver covers, and he lifted the first one. Kept warm on the plate were scrambled eggs, two sausages, and two small pieces of toast. Harry sat down, crossing his legs and putting the tray down in front of him. He lifted the metal cover off of the second plate, revealing assorted fruits.

Smiling to himself, he unwrapped his fork and knife and ate a piece of sweet pineapple. The juice burst in his mouth, and mingled nicely with the sweet strawberry half he ate next. He finished the fruit quickly, enjoying the sweet and sour tastes greatly, and reached for the milk. As he sipped, he tasted the slight sweet cinnamon, cardamom, and cloves that were used to flavor it.

Just how he liked it.

The first time he'd had it was over Christmas on his first year, and Hogwarts hadn't served it since. He'd asked Mrs. Figg to make it for him iced when he had to spend time with her over the summer when the Dursleys were out, and it served as the only good memory he had of summer.

He drank it slowly, savoring it, and truthfully it made him feel much better. For the next few minutes, he ate silently, grateful he didn't have to go downstairs. Once he was done, he checked the time. He had ten minutes until class, so he decided he would get ready. As he was packing his bag with the necessities for his morning class, he reached in to grab a quill. On the back of the card that came with his breakfast, he jotted down a quick "Thank you," thinking about how glad Hermione would be that he thanked the house elves.

The morning classes went by quickly, and he avoided all contact with Draco. He was able to ignore the sneers and jokes he got from his classmates, and was glad when he could finally talk to Ron and Hermione in the back of their Charms class.

"Oi," he said, "Thank's for telling the house elves to bring me breakfast."

Ron and Hermione looked at him, "What?"

Harry's brow furrowed, "Didn't you send me breakfast?"

They shook their heads.

"Oh," He said, "Well I guess then one of the teachers noticed I wasn't at breakfast or something."

Hermione nodded, "Professor McGonnigal stopped by our table asking about you, and we said you'd gone to take a shower, but knowing you, you wouldn't show up to breakfast after it." Harry grinned at how well she knew him and she continued, "She made some remark about how 'the boy must eat something, surely,' and then walked off. It was probably her."

That made sense, "You're right," he said, "It's good at least someone around here that isn't you two doesn't hate me."

"C'mon, Harry," Ron said, putting a hand on his shoulder, "No one hates you."

Harry looked at him incredulously, "Okay, Ron. Okay."


	12. Pleasure

**A/N: Shit I'm so sorry for the long wait before an update; I'm totally swamped with school :/ and also I've recently been obsessed with the show Merlin (if you haven't seen it go watch it now or I'll cry so much beautiful gay shipping to be shipped) and haven't had too many good Drarry ideas, so I think I'll just update on weekends, if that's okay. If I have the time to write on week days, I will! Lastly, I'm going to skip over the graveyard scene since I don't want to just re-write it? Yea. Also thank you soooooo much amaya-chan22 for your absolutely sweet review! **

Harry liked to classify his life as pre-kiss and post-kiss. Kisses were supposed to be like a gateway through which two people's love met in burning passion, yet Harry's very first kiss brought him nothing but feelings of dark despair. He regretted it, to be frank. He did not regret the action itself, for he rather enjoyed that aspect of it, but he would rather have Draco back as a friend without a kiss than never be loved by the boy with one.

His biggest distraction was school work, and for this his grades prospered. He spent every ounce of his effort in his classes, and all his free time studying or looking up spells for the upcoming maze task. The task was in only a few days, but Harry didn't fear. He was fully confident in his magic, since he'd spent so much time studying it. Another thing he liked to distract himself with when he was in a particularly social mood was the strange appearance of Barty Crouch.

Life had been most miserable for Harry, despite his efforts to make it not so. His thoughts were clouded with kisses and his dreams enveloped in wisps of white-blond hair touching his cheek. It seemed like every morning he would wake up overcome with anger and longing. He'd made a promise to himself; however. He would _not_ let Draco get him down. He was strong; a Gryffindor. So, every morning, he marched his way down to breakfast and ignored the stares. He powered through his classes and completed his work with excellence. He ate comfort food for dinner and thought about Quidditch plays by the fireplace until it was time to go to bed.

Sometimes, though, his strength and courage would dwindle, and the physical illness he got from missing Draco would come back. As much as he hated to admit it, he still loved him. Sometimes, on rainy days or sleepless nights, he would lose all movement and stare into space for chunks of time. He'd turned into a sort of mental shape shifter. He could be brave and strong, appreciating Ron and Hermione and everything they gave him, but he could also be a zombie on the verge of vomiting due to his own pent up murderous emotions.

He found again, as with the two previous times, that his emotions were replaced with growing amounts of fear, relevant to the length of time until the last task. Being only a day away, these fears were heavy and strong, though Harry was subconsciously grateful for them, since they dimmed his thoughts about Draco. Another good thing about the task was that studying new spells to use in the maze was another great distraction. Harry lived on distractions.

The odd portkey discomfort had long since subsided but Harry could still feel the way it tugged him forward, and the weight of Cedric's limp body in his arms. He could still hear the voices telling him Cedric was gone. Nothing was processing, and still, after all this time, as he sat with Ron and Hermione on the train, the visions of Cedric's empty face penetrated his thoughts.

On the bright side, Hermione had cracked Rita Skeeter's sneaky secret. She was an unregistered Animagus. She would sit on windowsills and listen in on important conversations and relax on Draco's palm as he fed her secrets, all in beetle form of course. As Harry gazed through the glass jar and into the beetle's black eyes, he heard the compartment door slide open.

"Very clever, Granger," Drawled a voice that made the hairs on Harry's neck stand up straight.

The three of them turned quickly to meet a tall blonde figure accompanied by two goons standing in the door way. Draco was sneering, his eyes piercing through Harry's menacingly. Crabbe and Goyle, as expected, looked incredibly smug. Draco stepped forward, holding up a hand as his back up dancers started to follow.

He stood a foot from where Harry stood, his arms crossed. "So," he began, "You caught some pathetic reporter, and Potter's Dumbleore's favorite boy again. Big deal."

Crabbe and Goyle both grunted laughs, and Draco leaned in so that Harry and his noses were just two inches apart, "Trying not to think about it, are we? Trying to pretend it never happened?"

Harry stood, and Draco straightened with him as Harry ordered just loudly enough for Draco to hear, "Get out."

Draco laughed, the warm minty-smelling wisps of breath tickling the underside of Harry's nose. His stomach gave a gleeful jolt at the smell, and Harry wanted to literally Crucio himself for being attracted to Draco at a time like this, or at all.

Draco inched his face even closer to speak softly, "You've picked the losing side, Potter. I warned you, all those years ago on this very train. I told you not to hang out with riffraff like this," He turned his gaze to Ron and Hermione for a split second, and returned it to Harry. "You almost pulled me in, Potter, but I've always been smarter than you. Runs in the family, I guess," he added with a smirk.

It was Harry's turn, "Is that what bothers you, Malfoy? That your own precious daddy was in the crowd as they killed Cedric and sliced my arm open? I know. You want to be just like your daddy."

"You don't know anything," Draco said and stiffened.

Harry laughed softly, "Yes I do. I know your fears and I know your weaknesses." Harry suddenly felt himself lunge forward, pinning Draco to the wall with his forearm, "I even know what your lips taste like, and no one else does. Does that bother you too?"

"Shut up," Draco muttered, his back against the wall. He suddenly regained awareness, "Get off of me Potter! You just can't get enough, can you?"

With one final shove, Harry removed himself from Draco, disgusted with his over-willingness to close the space between them.

"Just get away from me," He muttered, as he sat down next to Hermione, who put her arm around him.

Draco glared at the girl, "Pleasure."


	13. Draco's Fall

**A/N: I'm back, as I promised! I'm really sorry for the short chapters, but I'm pretty sure its beyond my physical capabilities to write long chapters. Seriously. Anyway, please enjoy, and (as I've gotten the impression from people) please don't stop reading just because Draco is being a prat! It's all part of the story, and one mustn't follow silly book!Harry and make immediate assumptions on the boy so quickly. Lastly: sldfjhshgdkfjkdjfsd I loved writing this chapter! So much!**

**Five Months Later**

Quidditch.

Quidditch was in essence as important to Harry's life as books were to Hermione's. Harry was gripping his knife and fork at the breakfast table with the utmost enthusiasm, still careful that his sleeve draped over the painfully etched lettering on his hand. The first game of this year's season was later that day, and Harry couldn't have been gladder. He had almost lost Quidditch again at the hands of Umbridge, which would have been devastating considering the sport had been canceled the previous year due to the Tournament. Ron was another story. The red-headed boy was frightened out of his wits, due partially to the Slytherin's attempt at frightening him with their "Weasley is Our King" program.

As he often did in times of stress, Harry felt his fingers trail along his collarbone to excavate the locket that had hung around his neck for nearly a year now. He brought the elegant silver pendulum up to his lips, and felt the delicate lettering against his sensitive skin.

_True friends will always be together in spirit._

If only those words weren't lies. Harry hadn't the foggiest idea on why the locket had never left his neck since last December. Maybe it reminded him of the old Draco; the Draco he loved. He quickly changed his train of thought and let the locket fall back down against his pale chest. He couldn't think about the old Draco. The old Draco was dead; gone forever, replaced by a cold, mocking beast that invaded his body. Harry felt nothing but hate for the new Draco, but could not squelch his feelings for the former boy. The prince had been slaughtered, his body controlled by the forces of evil that seemed to be penetrating everything. Harry was ready to face new Draco today. No, Harry was ready to _beat_ him today.

Sometime later, the team found themselves walking down towards the Quidditch pitch to prepare. Ron was gripping the side of his robes, his face pasty and his eyes unfocused. Harry couldn't help but smile as he had most likely looked the same during his first Quidditch game in first year.

"C'mon mate, don't get scared or anything," Harry joked.

Ron looked at him seethingly, "Shut it, Harry. You have no idea –"

"Oh calm down, Ron. It'll be okay, I promise. It's just Malfoy and his friends. You always talk about beating them to death; maybe you could, you know, accidentally knock one of them off their broom."

Grinning, Ron replied, "Accidentally."

"Of course," Harry assured innocently, the amusing image of several green-clad figures smacking into each other and falling to the ground comically.

Changed and ready, minutes later, the group stood on the field facing Angelina, the captain. Angelina propped her hands onto her hips, smiling back at her team.

"Well, then. Are we ready?" The group nodded, "Ron, have you gotten your tactics down?"

Ron shifted awkwardly, "I, erm –"

"Good." Angelina said as snickers – probably belonging to the twins – were heard from behind.

Angelina craned her neck to see the other team emerge just as students had begun filing into their seats. Several comments from the Gryffindor team were heard amidst the shuffle in the stands including, "Slimey Slytherins," and something about the annoying "Weasley is Our King" badges they sported. Harry's eyes automatically darted towards the single shining blonde head in the group. Draco was determinately staring at his hand clasped over his broomstick handle, a bit of hair flopping onto his forehead. As he was far away, Harry could make nothing of his face except that it looked terrified.

Draco was terrified of playing Harry face to face.

_Good. _

Harry caught himself grinning evilly to himself, and quickly wiped the expression from his face. His alertness was cleared as the shuffling noises in the stands silenced, meaning the students had settled and the game could begin. After a few comments, both teams moved forward. Even as the captains shook hands, Draco continued to examine his knuckles.

And they were off.

Harry shot up into the sky, circling just above where Ron was Keeping, in an attempt to spot the gold against the green grass below. He brought his head up, wanting to keep an eye on Draco, who Harry found to be only about twenty feet away. The blond was bent low, chest nearly parallel to his broom, staring ferociously at the ground below. As Harry observed him, Draco turned his head a few inches to look back at Harry, and snapped it back as soon as he noticed Harry was watching him. It was so strange – he looked so vulnerable.

Draco never looked vulnerable. Not old Draco; not new Draco. Draco was not a vulnerable person, Harry thought. He could be arrogant and mean, or he could be witty and smooth, but he had never seemed vulnerable before.

No, that was a lie. There were two times Draco had looked vulnerable prior to the current moment. First, he was vulnerable on the first day they'd met, when Harry had seen a streak of panic cross his perfectly sculpted features when he'd thought Harry would reject his hand. Second, he was vulnerable on that warm day when they'd overheard Snape and Karkaroff discussing their Death Eater endeavors, and Draco had turned porcelain white, his eyes alit with fear. And now again, because of Harry, the prince's armor was stripped and he was _vulnerable._

"Oh, and that'll be another missed save by Ron Weasley," Harry heard from the commentation box, "Good thing Gryffindor's got a couple of real fast players on their side to make up for losses."

Suddenly, Draco's shoulders jerked up, and as Harry followed his frantic gaze, he too spotted the golden dot on the opposite end of the pitch. The golden snitch was hovering pleasantly a few feet from the Slytherin's goal posts. Draco darted forward, and Harry, cursing himself, would be damned if he allowed Draco anywhere near that snitch. Harry jerked himself forward, following Draco as closely as he could manage.

They were half-way to the snitch, Draco in the lead, when Harry yelled, "I'll die before I let you get that snitch, Malfoy!"

Draco looked back, the wind furiously whipping blond hair into his face as they raced onwards, "Good, Potter because you could really do me a favor and –" His eyes dropped to Harry's chest, widening as he flicked his gaze back up to Harry's eyes, his own grey ones filled with an inexplicable emotion. Harry was about to look at his own chest and ask what Draco was looking at when -

_Thunk. _

Draco had slammed shoulder-first into the goal post, missing the snitch as he was yelling at Harry, and the golden ball found its way into the other boy's hand. Draco was blown off of his broom, which sailed to the ground, pirouetting violently downward, his limbs spewn out in every direction, and hit the ground harshly, being tossed and rolled forward an extra fifteen or so feet before he came to a halt, and his body lay limply in the grass, slightly hidden behind one of the Quidditch structures.

Harry, snitch in hand, stared wide-eyed at the spectacle that he was sure only he could see from this angle. Draco was lying face down, his arm bent under him in a way that look especially painful, and a visible amount of blood beginning to pool from under his head. He felt the snitch fall out of his grasp and flutter in place as he drove himself down to where Draco lay. He ran to the motionless figure, positioning himself so that he could see his face.

"Help!" He called out. Surely someone had seen!

He gingerly brushed a bit of sweaty hair from Draco's face, which was mostly in the dry ground. He gently took his shoulders in his hands, and turned him over so that he lay there face up. What he saw horrified him, though from his experiences he knew it probably looked worse than it was.

Draco's nose was broken into a twisted and gory shape, blood flowing out of it rapidly, mingling with the blood from what was most likely a rather nasty gash on his head, under his hair. Harry cursed to himself, putting his arm under Draco's neck, propping him up in his arms, cradling him with one arm and brushing his hair from his face with the other.

"Oh my God, I – HELP ME!" He called out again.

Finally, by the mercy of Merlin, a group of players, led by Ron, found the two. Ron looked shocked and confused in his own way, and a Slytherin boy began to run towards them, aiming to shove Harry away from Draco.

Harry protectively held Draco tighter. "Don't," he warned. The boy backed off, and Harry looked up to Ron and the other Quidditch players helplessly, "Teachers?"

"McGonnigal's probably just about here. It's a bit of a walk from the commentator's stand without a broom," Ron answered cautiously.

Harry nodded, "Help me – help me move him."

"Maybe you shouldn't, Harry," Angelina said, "If he's really hurt it might mess him up."

"Right," Harry agreed.

Suddenly, a two voices emerged, owned by Professor McGonnigal, George Weasley, and Madam Pomfrey. "Move, all of you," McGonnigal directed, "Not you, Harry. Hold him – Poppy look at the state of him!"

Madam Pomfrey bustled over to the two boys, muttering a charm at Draco's face. A sick crack emitted from his nose as it snapped back into place and Harry's stomach jolted.

"Did he hit his head?" The healer asked.

Harry looked up at her, "I – I don't know, probably!"

She nodded, "Well, boy, give him to me – gently!" she looked back at Ron as Harry transferred Draco's weight into her arms, "You, take Mr. Potter and the other students back to the field. Minerva, we'll have him up in the hospital wing, of course."

Harry stood up, glancing once more at Draco's unconscious face, and went to put his hand on Ron's shoulder, when the boy leaned away.

"You are not touching me with your bloody arm, Harry," He said sternly.

Harry looked at his arm and it indeed had a fair amount of Draco's blood on it, so Harry held it away from him as to not get any more on his robes than there already was.

"Oh, sorry," Harry apologized, and looked down at the ground as they came to a stop in the field. Most of the students that were in the stands had gone back inside, and the ones that were left were in the process of doing so. Harry looked up and saw Umbridge annoyedly rapping her wand against her other hand, staring at Harry. Uncomfortable, Harry looked away and saw a rather calm looking Professor Flitwick approach the group of Quidditch players.

As he saw the blood on Harry's arm and the minor smudges of it on his robes, his eyebrows lifted, "Well, Mr. Potter! My, you and the other Gryffindors must of course go to wash yourselves! You know your way, of course, so get along!"

"Thank you, Professor," Harry answered, and motioned Ron to walk with him ahead of the others.

Harry sighed and Ron nodded thoughtfully, "So."

Harry's lips twitched, "So what?"

"I saw you, Harry," Ron said, still looking down.

Harry forced a laugh, "Obviously."

Ron looked up, making eye contact, "That's not what I mean. I saw – I saw the way you were holding… _him_."

Harry thinned his lips as he felt a heavy feeling flow throughout him, "It was nothing. I just didn't want him to like – choke on his own blood or anything."

"No," Ron shook his head, "It wasn't just that."

"Talk about it later?" Harry asked.

Ron agreed, "Hermione or no?"

Harry heaved a sigh with a large shrug, "Yeah, yeah."

The rest of their walk was silent, though the heard the laughter and conversation of their fellow team-mates behind them. Once they reached the common room, they parted from their other team-mates and found that it was relatively empty, as most people would rather meander outside and around the castle on a nice afternoon such as this one.

Hermione jumped up from where she was sitting by the window and came to them, "Harry! Ron! What –"

"Not now, Hermione," Ron said gently.

Harry ignored them both and walked up the stairs to the boys dormitories, leaving behind a simple, "Shower."

Harry exhaled loudly, removing the layers of sweaty Quidditch robes and stepping into the lukewarm shower. After he was sufficiently washed, he stepped out, avoiding the mirrors, and wrapped one towel around his waist and another around his head. Walking clumsily to his bedroom, he opened the door and walked to his area. Harry picked a set of comfortable clothes and put them on slowly.

Ron was right. He wasn't just supporting Draco so that he wouldn't "like, choke on his own blood or anything." He was holding him. He was holding him close and brushing the hair away from his bloody face, wanting to do anything to comfort the soul and the body. As much as it pained him to admit it, he was still completely, whole-heartedly, and immensely in love with Draco. He hated the new Draco; the one who didn't accept him, had turned on him, but he knew that as he held his motionless body, he couldn't bear to lose him.

Except he had already lost him, that was the problem. Draco was gone, and Harry had to remind himself of it every day. Somehow, the vulnerable boy he'd seen out there on the pitch didn't match up with the harsh and taunting little devil that Draco had become.

There was vulnerability, fear, and… _guilt. _

Was Draco guilty for what he had done? Was that why he couldn't look Harry in the eye unless he was taunting him, as he did seconds before the terrible fall?

Harry shook his head, standing up and making his way through the door and down the stairs. Ron and Hermione were sitting on one of the couches, somehow now alone in the common room. Harry walked up to them unseen, and cleared his throat.

Hermione jumped, and Harry grinned at her, "Oh, Harry, you scared me," she said with a soft giggle.

"Sorry," he said, "Dinner?"

Ron was first to stand, "Sounds good to me."

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but Harry lifted a hand, "We'll talk later, okay?"

"Okay," she answered with a sigh.

The three walked to dinner discussing the match. Hermione didn't provide much to the conversation other than she saw how miserable Ron played, and the three purposefully avoided Draco's fall. The discussion carried on throughout dinner, and the other players were kind enough not to badger Harry with questions. Actually, they likely just hadn't noticed the strangeness of Harry's hold on Draco, which seemed like a much more valid reason for their silence.

They stayed at dinner long, as they were getting better and better at ignoring the rude and disbelieving attitudes towards Harry that had been displayed this year. Last year, everyone hated him because he kissed a boy and they thought he was an attention hog, and this year it was because they thought he was a liar. What next?

After dinner, Hermione dragged the three to the library to study for about an hour, when they decided it was late enough to go back to the common room, as it was already dark outside.

They talked on the sofa, and were surprisingly alone. Hermione and Harry sat opposite each other and Ron plopped down between them.

Silence followed, until Harry felt a hand on his shoulder, and he turned to see Hermione's troubled face as she reached over Ron. "Harry," she began, "Ron told me about…"

"Yeah, I know. Er, I don't know," He said, "Honestly I'm probably more confused than you are right now."

Ron tapped him on the shoulder, "But, Harry, I thought you hated Malfoy now."

Harry shook his head, "I do, I do, but… you weren't there." He shifted position, "Like, he wouldn't look at me the entire game, did you see that?" Ron nodded and Harry continued, "he looked so… scared? Like, almost guilty, you know, mate?"

"Not at all," Ron answered.

Harry saw Hermione shake her head, "I do, Harry. Do you think he's, you know, feeling guilty?"

"I have no idea but…" Harry was about to delve deeper into his feelings, when his natural instincts screamed for him to haul. He pursed his lips and released, "did you know he fell because he wasn't paying attention while telling me to do him a favor and die?"

Hermione crossed her arms, "What a snot!"

"Yeah!" Ron agreed, punching Harry in the shoulder playfully.

Harry laughed, "I guess he can't be too guilty then."

"Well," Hermione said, "you aren't going to be visiting him in the hospital wing or anything, are you?"

Harry shook his head, "No."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said sympathetically.

Ron smiled at him, "It's okay, you'll figure it out. Or end up dueling him, whichever comes first. It's all good."

Harry laughed, "Alright, alright. I'm exhausted, are you two going to bed too?"

Ron stood, exhaling largely, "Yeah, I think so." Harry looked over at Hermione, who nodded in agreement.

Harry and Ron bade her goodbye and walked up to their dormitories. As Harry had dressed comfortably and did not have the motivation necessary to change clothes, he simply removed his shoes and shirt and slid under his covers.

"G'nite, Harry," He heard Ron say.

"Good night," he replied.

Within ten or so minutes, Harry heard the slow, deep breathing that indicated his friend was asleep. As Harry was on the verge himself, he didn't dare let his thoughts travel. As he felt the cold metal against his chest, one got the best of him.

He took the metal object in his hands, trying half-heartedly to open it for the millionth time to no avail. Why did Harry keep wearing the locket? What was the point? It was a lie, wasn't it? A bit of anger spiked through Harry, and he brought his hands up to unclasp the locket, but as he felt the chain in his fingers he was hit with an overwhelming longing.

He wanted his old friend back. He thought of all the laughs and jokes, and the way Draco could never admit to being wrong, or the way his smile was always sculpted unless he was alone with Harry, laughing over some stupid joke for which his smile would become natural and warm.

He couldn't bring himself to undo the clasp. He closed his fist around the chain and ran his hand down it to the pendulum. He picked it up off of his chest and pressed his lips to it, rolling over. The cold metal still brushing his lips as his hand relaxed against the pillow, he drifted off to sleep.


	14. Lips

**A/N: Thank you for all the kind words on the last chapter! Enjoy, darlings! I apologize for angst, as I've gotten a few comments about it. I enjoy writing angst and developing my characters through it, so I'm sorry if that bothers you. Just keep reading, I promise in the end the anxiety and sadness will be worth it.**

"Harry, is it true it was your hex that knocked Malfoy off his broom?" A Hufflepuff fifth year asked as Harry corrected his wand position in the next Dumbledore's Army meeting.

"No," Said Harry, not breaking his concentration on the boy's wrist, "That's ridiculous. He just fell."

He felt the boy shrug, "Well, that's just what people are saying, anyway."

"Well," Harry said with a harsh chuckle, "What people say about me isn't always true."

The boy didn't answer, and Harry moved to observe the rest of the students in the room.

The spells they were learning were getting more serious, as was the weather. November was beginning to foretell the frigid bites of winter, and Harry was beginning to feel quite excited for Christmas once again. He would have presents, Ron, and most importantly, no Draco. Draco had been released from the hospital wing two days after his injury, a little shaken up but otherwise good as new. Luckily, Draco had been unconscious during the entire spectacle, but that didn't keep any of his team mates from giving him a full account of Harry's… attitude.

An hour later, Harry stood in front of a group of fellow students, "That was really good, guys, really. I think we'll have like… one or two of these meetings before the holidays if Ron, Hermione, and I find a good time so just keep up the good work and we'll see each other at the next meeting, right?"

A low grumble of approval and thanks sounded from the group, and the students began to leave in small groups, waving goodbye to Harry as they left. After a while, Harry, Ron, and Hermione started back to Gryffindor tower themselves, sneaking along the corridor in silence. Hearing footsteps, Harry quickly took charge and pushed the other two against the wall, making a hushing gesture and receiving a nod from both of them, meaning they understood. The footsteps in question were generated by a whistling male walking through the adjacent corridor, most likely part of Umbridge's goon squad. As they saw it was only Vincent Crabbe, they breathed a sigh of relief as he sauntered on by, continuing to whistle a tune unknown to Harry.

The noise of his whistling died down, and Harry heard Ron laugh quietly. "What?" He and Hermione whispered in unison.

Ron shook his head, "Nothing, its just," He smiled, "My mum likes that song. It's not exactly too manly."

"Oh," Harry said, thinking that the situation was similar to walking by Dudley humming a tune by Madonna or some other Muggle artist of similar lack of masculinity.

Hermione made a noise of disapproval, "What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing, Hermione, nothing." Ron said, grinning at Harry who grinned back.

Though one would expect Ron to be weary of joking about traditional masculinity and the absence of it around Harry due to incidents involving boy kissing, but oddly, their relationship had hardly changed in those respects. Harry was still the same Harry (except more anxious and without his blond counterpart with him constantly) and Ron was still the same Ron.

In all honesty, Harry wasn't sure what he was in terms of sexuality anymore. He thought he'd liked Cho, right? But after much thought he'd started to suspect he'd only "liked" her because he thought he was supposed to. Of course, she was beautiful, charming, and kind, and the butterflies in his stomach had gone on a drunken strike whenever he went near her, but they'd subsided. When he listened to other boys talk about how they felt about girls, he found he couldn't relate. He'd never once thought about Hermione or even Cho, really, in the same way they described. He noticed beauty and attractiveness, but he wasn't attracted _to_ them.

The second thing he'd noticed is that he did feel the way boys described, but towards other boys. It was odd, how he hadn't realized that he liked boys. On one level he did, because he _was_ attracted to them, but it hadn't registered mentally. Until he impulsively kissed Draco that night.

The last thing he'd realized is that when he felt Draco's lips against his, all feelings, thoughts, and attractions towards any other person were expelled from his consciousness. Despite his hate, when he saw Draco his stomach would lurch, his heart would jump, and his insides would melt. No one else had that effect on him.

It drove him _mad_. He'd look at a girl. _She's not a boy_. He'd look at a boy. _He's not Draco_. He wanted pure, filtered, concentrated hate. He didn't want to be attracted to Draco. He didn't want to miss Draco. He didn't want to love Draco.

But he did.

He did and he hated himself for it. Why couldn't he just be over the bastard? Why couldn't he just admit that Draco had changed forever all because Harry wasn't who Draco thought he was?

Once the coast was completely clear, Harry motioned the other two forward, and they finished their walk to Gryffindor Tower.

"Apple stew," Harry told the Fat Lady, and she swung aside.

"What even is apple stew," Ron asked, "Like does it exist?"

Harry shrugged, "Probably not."

"It sounds repulsive," Hermione inputted.

Both Harry and Ron nodded, and Harry let out a massive yawn. "Well that was a good meeting," He said.

Hermione smiled enthusiastically, "It was!"

"But Harry," Ron said, "What was that one kid talking to you about? - Oh, don't give me that look I didn't mean to hear you."

Harry pulled a face, "Just stupid things people are saying about me. The usual."

Ron leaned against a chess table, "Like what?"

"Yeah, Harry, what else?" Hermione asked.

"I dunno," Harry said, "He said people think I hexed Malfoy and made him fall off his broom."

Ron raised an eyebrow, "… Did you?"

"Of course not!" Harry yelled, looking around sheepishly, afraid his loudness had awoken someone.

"We know, Harry, we know," Hermione assured. "Harry…"

Harry turned to her, "What?"

She sighed and took his hand, leading him to the couch. Ron followed and the three of them sat down, Ron slouching and examining his fingernails.

"How are you? With – with Malfoy?" She asked.

"Great. We're best of friends."

Hermione rolled her eyes and Harry said, "Okay, okay. I still hate him."

"Do you, though?" Ron said.

Harry nodded affirmatively, "Of course, Ron."

"Harry, I saw –"

Harry stood up angrily, "I know, I know! You saw! Everyone saw! Just because I didn't want him to choke on his own damn blood doesn't mean I'm in love with him! Don't forget he _used_ to be my best friend!"

He gritted his teeth, angry with himself for yelling, and also for the lie. He felt bad for not letting on to the full extent of his emotions, but that was another bridge to cross.

"Okay, Harry. Okay," Hermione said calmly after Ron shushed him. "Do you want to just go to bed? I think you're tired."

Harry ran his fingers through his hair, "Yeah – I – yeah." He nodded curtly to them and turned to walk up the stairs. As he made his way to the bedroom he heard Ron begin to whisper, "We always have these short conversations and they always come to nothing and…"

Harry dug his fingernails painfully into a spot next to the healing rawness on his hand, furious with himself.

Why couldn't he _let it go_? It was ridiculous; he couldn't forget about Draco, he couldn't stop his feelings for him, and he couldn't even take off the stupid necklace.

Harry finally entered his room and threw on a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt. He loudly exhaled, not even worrying about waking anyone up, and plopped down onto his bed. He didn't bother to wash his face or brush his teeth, and he kneaded his fists into his forehead, groaning with sheer exhaustion. He rolled over, trailing his finger along the smooth bed sheets. Lifting his gaze up to the window, he saw stars and how they roamed freely in their open space while he lie millions of miles below, trapped in a cage of love and hate and past and future and life and death. Harry fell asleep wishing he was free like a star in the night sky.

The next two days passed uneventfully. Harry went to class, practiced Quidditch, and talked late at night with Ron and Hermione. As if life hadn't been ruined for Harry enough, he was called to Professor McGonnigal's office an hour before dinner a few days later.

As he entered, he saw Umbridge standing still in front of McGonnigal's desk, her pudgy fingers clutching a small pink purse. Behind the desk, McGonnigal stood with a seething expression aimed towards the back of the other woman's head.

Umbridge cleared her throat girlishly, "Mr. Potter," she greeted. He nodded in affirmation, his gaze turning to Professor McGonnigal. She gave him a sympathetic look an allowed Umbridge to continue.

"In light of certain events, Mr. Potter, I'm afraid I'll have to bestow a punishment on you. Rumors have," – giggle – "arrived to me stating that you hexed young Mr. Malfoy off of his broom when he fell during the match last week." She said with a smile.

McGonnigal spoke up, "Dolores, I have known Harry for nearly six years, and I know he would not hex another student during a Quidditch match."

Harry nodded, "I didn't."

"Enough," Umbridge said with the shaky exhale she gave when people argued with her. "I will not have more of your lies, Mr. Potter. You will _not_ be having detention with me, by request of the Headmaster, but you will henceforth be expelled from playing Quidditch as you are an obvious danger to other students."

Harry's eyes widened, "Expelled? From Quidditch? For how long?"

"Forever, I'm afraid to say." Harry gave a loud noise of protest, looking to McGonnigal desperately. "Quidditch is a safe, Ministry approved sport, and cannot be made dangerous by roughhousers and delinquents."

"DELINQUENTS?" Harry and Professor McGonnigal bellowed in unison. "Don't make me _laugh_, Dolores, this boy is not a delinquent!"

Umbridge was furious, "QUIET!" She yelled, followed with a soft throat clearing and her next words were spoken in a hushed tone, "As High Inquisitor of this school I insist on the rational punishment I am giving! This boy is a danger to other players and he cannot continue!"

She snapped the links on her purse a few times, and swiftly carried herself from the room. Harry looked to Professor McGonnigal in outrage, and was further dismayed by her answer, "I'm sorry, Potter. There's nothing I can do. Hopefully – if she ever leaves – you'll be able to play again, but, as for now, you'll have to find something else to do. She's already collected your broom. I'd suggest you tell your team ma – your _former_ team mates. Go on, Potter."

Harry felt his lungs deflate in complete defeat. He wanted to collapse; to fall asleep and never wake up. This couldn't be real. Quidditch kept him grounded. It kept him_ sane_. Could nothing go right for him? Nothing?

Without another word, he closed the door behind him and stood in the empty corridor, his back against the door to McGonnigal's office. He blinked a few times and instinctively brought his hand to feel the chain of his locket against his neck. Immediately bringing his hand down, he scolded himself. It was _Draco's_ fault he was in this mess in the first place. If _Draco_ hadn't been an idiot and crashed himself, Harry would still be playing Quidditch. If _Draco_ hadn't been a prat and turned on him, he would still have his best friend and life would still be okay.

He would skip dinner. He would skip breakfast the next day. He would skip lunch and relish the pain his stomach caused him. He would skip class. He would stay in bed. He had no reason to leave it, anyway. Almost everything had been taken from him. All he had was two friends who would never understand and a godfather he couldn't visit. Sirius knew about Harry and Draco, of course, as the kiss had been all over the news last year, and Harry was known as the gay Gryffindor with a death eater fetish throughout the media, and he had been most understanding. He had been completely loving and accepting towards Harry, but not towards the fact that it was _Draco_. Nonetheless, Harry felt as if Sirius was his lifeline and his support; the only person he could really count as family and that was important to him. If he were to lose Ron or Hermione or Sirius, then truly his life would be empty.

So he did skip dinner. And breakfast. And class. And lunch. He did stay in bed and he did have no reason to leave it. By dinner; however, he could no longer bear the pain and growling in his stomach and he heaved himself up out of bed. No one had visited him, and he was partially grateful. Smelling himself, he decided a shower was not yet necessary and that if he combed his hair down with water he would pass as a averagely functioning human being.

Wrapped in a blanket of blackness and sorrow, he walked through the common room. A few people were left, as they would probably wait to go to dinner later once others had finished, and he ignored them as they turned their heads. Of _course_, everyone had probably heard of crazy ol' Harry Potter skipping meals and classes. He wordlessly made his way into the Great Hall and to Ron and Hermione, who were sitting adjacent and involved in conversation with fellow Gryffindors. He tapped them both on the shoulders, signing them to scoot over and make room for him in between then, and they did.

"Harry! We were beginning to worry!" Hermione said excitedly.

Harry shrugged and Ron said nervously, "Yeah, mate! Skipped class?"

Harry nodded, beginning to pile food onto his plate as people continued to ask him questions that he did not verbally answer.

He ignored some stupid comment from Fred and mumbled quietly, "I can't play Quidditch."

Ron huffed, "Of course you can, Harry! You're the best Seeker we've had since –"

"No, Ron," He said quietly. "I mean I'm banned."

All conversation within five feet of him stopped. Ron turned to look around the table and then back at Harry, "What do you mean… 'banned?'"

"I mean Umbridge called me over and told me I'm a danger to other students because everyone says I hexed Malfoy off of his broom." Harry explained dully.

He felt arms around him, and soft hair against his neck, "Oh, Harry! That awful cow!" Hermione crooned.

Harry's lips twitched in imitation of a smile, "Yeah."

He didn't speak much for the forty-five minutes they spent at dinner, and moved slowly as they began to get up once the plates had cleared and everyone was beginning to leave. Harry walked as if through syrup and only looked up when he heard Ron say, "Well, would you look at that," towards Hermione.

When he did 'look at that;' however, he realized Ron had most likely not intended for Harry to hear him. Draco was leaning his hand against the wall nearest to the Slytherin table as they passed, with a voluptuous tan-skinned brunette pressed between him and the wall. Harry felt his stomach drop as he knew what would happen next before it did. People seemed to sense the aura and formed a small clearing in the crowd as Harry watched Draco press his lips swiftly to the girl's, leaving a short sweet kiss where they touched. He then muttered something to her, and left the room.

Harry wasn't breathing. He wasn't thinking. He wasn't blinking. He felt his muscles relax, and felt true emptiness fill his body, encompassing it as if his body was the night and all the stars and clouds and moon had gone from it. His lips were dry as they parted and his feet stood still in the spot.

He didn't know if anyone had seen his reaction, and he didn't care.

"I'll – I'm – I'll go upstairs. I mean, home – I mean to the dorm – bed – room. Tired – erm – tired, bye." He said, and forced his feet to transport him quickly, his lungs failing as he crashed through the castle up to Gryffindor tower. He told the password to the Fat Lady and dragged himself up the stairs back to the bedroom in which he had locked himself all day. As he reached the door, he was ever so thankful to find it empty, as his roommates were still in the Great Hall. He supported his failing body against his bed, sinking down slowly and running a hand through his hair.

He wouldn't cry.

He would not cry.

He cried.

Thick sobs filled his throat as he angrily protested them by keeping his mouth shut. They won eventually, and he masked them from the empty room in his pillow, clutching the ends of it in his fists. It felt like he'd lost Draco all over again. He knew Draco could never want him and he knew that even if Draco did like boys in the way Harry liked boys, that Harry was one boy that would never earn his love. But it was a different animal to see up close. It was just a short kiss, but he'd seen all he needed. He didn't know the girl, and he didn't care about her.

It was that day that he'd lost everything once again. He didn't care about Quidditch anymore. He dug the locket from under his clothing and pressed it to his tear-chapped lips, succumbing to every buried feeling angrily escaping through the salty water dropping from his eyes.


	15. Separation

**A/N: I've gotten a lot of people commenting about the angst in this fic, as I think I've said before, and I've been strenuously refraining from saying anything about it, because it makes me feel that I will seem as if I lack confidence in my own fic, but I guess I can say a few things. I do apologize for the angst, but I am a bit of an angst whore myself. I feel like my story is going to play its self out well, but you have to give it time (and a chance). I don't like giving much away, but it will get better. I promise. The angst will subside with some plot revelations in a few chapters, and then there will be a period of steady D/H angst-free plot, and then followed by some more angst and a happy resolution. I really do hope this isn't giving too much away but I'd hate to lose readers because I'm emotionally sadistic. **

**Also, I tried to add a bit of comedic relief in this chapter because even though the whole ordeal is stressful and painful to Harry and Draco, it is quite funny as a scenario in its self. I feel like I may have ended the chapter too early, so I'm sorry if I did, but it seemed like a nice place to stop for the time being. **

With the most recent addition to the stresses in Harry's life, he was reacting in a drastically different way than the previous day. Instead of staying in bed for hours, drowning in his own tears, Harry turned to over-productivity. As no one had dared bother him the night before, Ron was choosing now to shoo the other boys from the room as Harry was picking up any of his loose articles and folding them neatly in categorized piles on his bed before they had to go to their morning classes.

Ron flopped down on his own bed stomach first, looking up at Harry, "You know, cleaning like that is violating a lot of unspoken manhood rules."

"Well," Harry replied, continuing his work without returning his friend's gaze, "I've violated a lot of unspoken manhood rules in the last year, so what's another?"

Ron sighed, "Harry, come on. I mean… you knew he isn't, well –"

"Yeah," Harry said. "I know."

"So why are you like this? Why did you spend a whole day in bed and why are you doing the house elves' jobs?" He asked.

"I don't know," Harry said, momentarily curling his fist around an undershirt.

Ron had changed positions, and was now sitting on the edge of his mattress, facing Harry. "Harry, he's just as well hated you since last Christmas, and you know he likes women. What's –"

Harry could feel his eyes burning as he said through clenched teeth, fixing his gaze down at the center pile of folded clothing, "What's wrong? You think – you think just because he _likes women_ that means I can't have feelings for him? What difference does what he likes make in what I like?"

"Oh," Ron said, defeated, but only adding more frustration to Harry's boiling pot of emotions.

Harry looked up, "Oh? _Oh_? Right. How could I expect you to understand?"

"Look, Harry, I'm trying but –"

"You're right," Harry sighed, "I'm sorry, actually. I'm being annoying. I just honestly can't explain any of this. On one hand, I hate him; I'm furious… but, on the other I… I miss him. I miss him a lot. I wish I'd never shaken his hand in first year. You were right about him. He's no good. But, before all of this, we liked each other, I think. I just wish… I wish I'd never been friends with him. I wish it was just you, me, and Hermione, and then none of this would have ever happened. I'd just be a normal kid… well, with you know, the destiny to kill the most dangerous dark wizard of our time hanging over my head but… a normal kid."

Ron grinned, "You'll never be normal, Harry."

"I know," Harry said. "If I can't be normal I should be damn happy, but oh no. Not me."

"Ah, shut up, we just need to find someone for you to kiss instead," Ron said.

Harry half-smiled, "Right."

Ron was silent as he most likely realized the mistake in his suggestion: Harry didn't want to kiss anyone else.

Harry inhaled deeply, "Well, at least I'll go to class. That's a start."

"Yeah, you bloody idiot. Are you ready for potions? I heard from the Ravenclaws that Snape is giving us a pre-holiday assessment," Ron informed.

"Really?" Harry asked, the fear of the assessment seeming minor compared to his fear of laying eyes on Draco.

Ron nodded, "Yeah. Of course, I'll be cheating off of Hermione if she doesn't catch me."

"Same, probably. Do you think she'd really be angry if she caught us?"

"Yes? Do you know Hermione? Hermione Granger?" Ron said, cocking his right eyebrow.

Harry grinned, "No, actually. Would you introduce me?"

Ron waved his joke away dismissively, glad that Harry's humor was returning. "Well, stop cleaning, _mum_, we might as well go."

"Alright, then," Harry said, having long let go of his folded clothing. He grabbed a set of robes and draped them over his regular clothes and took his wand into his hand. "Let's go."

Walking through the door to the dimly lit potions classroom just five minutes later, the familiar faint scent of jarred specimens and steaming potions hit his nose. Hermione was already there, sitting at their usual table in the far right corner of the room. Harry and Ron made their way to it, and when they began to sit down, Hermione leaned over and hissed, "You two were almost late!"

"At least I came," Harry admitted.

"Yeah, Hermione," Ron seconded, "At least he's here."

Hermione rolled her eyes, "What an accomplishment."

"Where's the other idiot? The blond one?" Ron whispered.

Hermione looked nervously at Harry and then at the other side of the room. Harry and Ron turned in their seats and followed her gaze. As class had already started, Draco was attentively taking notes on whatever Snape was droning on about. The strands of his side-combed hair that always fell out of their gelled position and onto his forehead inflicted a pang of annoyance in Harry for some reason and he shook his head, turning back to Hermione.

"Disgusting," he mumbled.

Ron put his hand on his shoulder, "That's it, mate."

Hermione leaned in, the trio now with all of their heads closely together in discussion, "Harry, you really shouldn't let him get to you."

"I'm not," he whispered, "he's just disgusting, that's it."

"Well," Hermione said, "His face wasn't what you were disgusted with yesterday at dinner."

Ron slapped her gently across the hand, "Will you leave it alone? I talked to him earlier. It's weird homosexual problems we'll never understand."

"Well I don't care!" Hermione said, her whisper growing louder, "He's my friend and I don't care what 'homosexual problems' he's having, I just want –"

"_Miss_ Granger," Boomed Snape's drawling voice as Hermione clapped her hand over her mouth and Harry and Ron spun around, the three of them looking at their teacher wide-eyed. "Twenty-five points from Gryffindor for bringing your – ah – _homosexual problems_ into my classroom and disrupting my lesson."

Hermione's voice came out in a mortified squeak, "I'm sorry –"

"Quiet," Snape interrupted. "It seems that because you three cannot seem to be able to keep yourselves quiet, there will be need for a separation. Miss Granger, stay where you are. Mr. Weasley, please collect your items and take your place next to the lovely Miss Bulstrode. As for Mr. Potter, you and Mr. Crabbe can switch seats, and you can sit next to Mr. Malfoy."

Harry's mouth dropped in horror, causing Snape's smug grin to grow even wider. "But, Professor –" He objected.

Snape looked nearly giddy, "You heard me. Chop-chop."

Harry looked desperately at his friends. Ron's mouth was hanging open similarly to Harry's, and Hermione looked on the verge of tears, mouthing, 'I'm sorry!' over and over.

Ron stood slowly, taking his small cauldron by the handle in one hand and his book bag in the other, looking as if they both weighed hundreds of pounds as he dragged himself next to Milicent Bulstrode at the Slytherin table furthest from Draco's.

Harry was still gaping at Hermione and Hermione was still mouthing apologies when Harry felt a harsh tap on his shoulder. "Move," Crabbe ordered dumbly, and Harry obeyed. He gathered his belongings and walked across the room, keeping scathing eye contact with the greasy-haired professor the entire time. He sat down in Crabbe's former seat, across from Goyle, and felt the hairs on his arms prick up with uncomfortable nervousness.

He did not _dare_ look at Draco, and kept his eyes fixated on a spot on the wall behind Snape's head. After a minute, he realized he had not been breathing and his lungs were feeling quite painful. He drew in a shaky breath, trying to keep it as silent as possible, failing miserably.

"Calm down, Potter," Goyle said, attracting Harry's attention to a rather ugly sore on his lips.

"Shut the hell up, Goyle," Draco ordered, and Harry saw in the corner of his eye that Draco's fingers were curled harshly around his quill. Harry immediately relaxed, gaining immense satisfaction from the fact that Draco was as nervous and uncomfortable as he was.

Harry heard a soft chuckle escape his throat followed by a coarse, "What could you be laughing at, Potter?" coming from Draco.

"Oh," Harry said, beginning to twirl is quill in circles, "You're a tad on edge."

"And you're a tad ugly," Draco snapped.

Harry nearly cackled, "That's the best you could come up with? Really, Malfoy, you're off your game."

"Shut up," Draco said.

"No, Draco," Harry whispered, his anger spilling over, "_you_ shut up. Don't look at me, don't talk to me, don't come near me, because I hate your guts, Draco Malfoy."

"Good," Draco answered, "Because I hate yours too."


	16. PDA

**A/N: Hello folks! I love being able to update on a week day! School's been pretty hectic for me recently but writing is very calming so why not continue my fic? Anyway, someone asked a question like 'why couldn't they just check Harry's wand to see if he hexed Draco?'**

**I just thought I'd explain: Well, first of all, that spell shows either the last spell performed or the last couple, and as it had been a day or two since the incident, Harry would have performed many spells since the alleged hexing (mind you he does go to a wizarding school and probably performs a couple dozen spells a day). Even if it were possible to pinpoint the time of the alleged hexing and check for any spells performed in that time period, why on earth would **_**Umbridge**_** vouch for a fair trial on Harry's part? **

**Anyway, I hope you're all having a jolly time and enjoying my fic! Read on, friends.**

Harry was rather disgusted with himself at this point. Not only had he let Draco get to him, but he had let him penetrate his deepest emotions in a way that no one else could. Harry was strong. He didn't like to display his emotions. He liked to internalize pain, in the way he did when he tried to retain Umbridge's punishments, or how he'd pretended to hate Ron when they were fighting. Something had happened with Draco that Harry detested. Draco had broken him; gotten past the walls he never knew he had. Draco had taken him and reduced him to a pitty-wallowing idiot.

This would carry on no more.

Harry had woken up with this mindset the day after Snape had sat him next to Draco in class. It was laughable how he had attempted to upset Harry, and for a moment he had. When Harry saw Draco's nerves, something new had risen in him. It was like a snake rearing its ugly head at its prey. It was neither the noble Harry nor the pathetic Harry. It was something new; something very… _Slytherin_.

He felt this to the point where he couldn't bear to think about the way he'd acted – skipping class, sleeping all day, not eating – like a heartbroken girl with some emotional complex, without cringing internally. It was the same feeling one would get while falling asleep when a memory of something they said completely stupidly the day before unkindly interrupted their drowsy stupor.

"Potter!" He heard Professor McGonnigal snap.

He jerked his head up, looking frantically around the room until he'd found the woman. Apparently, they'd stopped taking notes and the entire class was staring at him, for the Professor had asked him a question, and upon his lack of an answer, had repeated said question not once – but twice.

He fixed his glasses, which were hanging annoyingly askew, "Yes, Professor? I'm sorry."

Her pursed lips loosened a bit as she gave him a look of understanding, for she knew that he was both in the middle of the Draco Trauma and also banned from Quidditch. "I said, Potter, could you tell me what Bartholomew Galdrickson's three Laws of Minor Transfiguration are?"

Harry could feel himself going pink, and he snapped his mouth shut as he realized it was hanging open with confusion. "I'm – I'm sorry – I don't know them."

She was smiling a bit now, "Well, if you would care to listen, they are in your book. Page three-hundred and eighty-two, if it wouldn't be too much _trouble_."

"Of – Of course not!" He sputtered, feeling his entire body heat up with severe embarrassment. He fumbled around in his back and retrieved the necessary book. He looked to Hermione, who was both pointing to the required passage and hiding her fit of giggles behind her robe sleeve.

Harry cleared his throat and read the three laws aloud, not registering what he was reading to the slightest. "Thank you, Mr. Potter." Professor McGonnigal said and turned from him, content with his comical humiliation. "Now, as Mr. Potter so kindly stated, the three Laws of Minor Transfiguration – the first of which being –"

"Harry," Hermione whispered, a blush of pink still in her cheeks from laughing, "are you alright?"

Harry nodded, "I'm fine, Hermione. I was just thinking –"

"About Draco," She finished.

"Yeah," Harry said with a sheepish smile, "About Draco. But – but it's not what you think," He added once he saw the concerned expression on her face. "I'm done with all that emotional nonsense. I'm… rethinking things."

Hermione automatically brightened, "Good! Oh, Harry, you've been acting so strange lately. I don't think you've ever missed classes like that before!"

"I know," He said, his stomach lurching as he thought of the embarrassing spectacle he'd put on, "That was stupid. I honestly have no idea what got into me."

"Well," she said, patting his hand quickly, "I'm glad to have the old you again," and turned her attention back to the class.

_I'm glad to have the old you again._ The words rang in Harry's mind, startling him.

He really was _that bad_. He had really changed in the last few days so much. Because of what? A boy and a sport. Harry shook his head, lifting his quill and trying to alert his own mind to what Professor McGonnigal was saying.

"… So, keeping Galdrickson's second law in mind, would it be right to assume that any minor transfiguration requires an unnatural consumption of the shape's original form?"

Several people raised their hands, Hermione being second, which was unusual. A sandy-haired girl was called, and she answered, "Actually, you could assume that minor transfigurations require only a magical reflection of the shape's original form."

Hermione stiffened in her seat, offended that someone both raised their hand before she and answered the question correctly, despite its tricky difficulty, and hissed at Harry, "What an awful voice she has!"

Harry laughed, "You're just mad you couldn't answer."

"Shut up," Hermione said with a smile and an eye roll.

Throughout the entire lesson, Ron had remained quiet, concentrated on the papers in front of him, much unlike him. Harry picked up his quill and threw it playfully at him. As it bounced off of his slouched neck, he sat up with a start, letting out a loud yelp.

He had been _sleeping_.

"_Mr._ Weasley," Professor McGonnigal breathed, wavering between outrage and surprise.

"I'm – I'm – I – " Ron sputtered, his ears and cheeks growing red. He turned to shoot Harry a scathing look as Harry watched in utter surprise.

'_I'm sorry!_' Harry mouthed, feeling dreadful.

McGonnigal was still looking at them, "Now, from Harry, I understand slight misbehaviors, but you have no excuse, Mr. Weasley. You are lucky I am in a _rather_ good mood today, or else I would have bestowed you with a detention! Now please, pay attention! All three of you!"

Though Ron was still red in the face, he, Harry, and Hermione turned to each other giggling once the professor had turned her back to the more serious side of the room.

Within minutes, the class was over, and the three filed out into the hallway amongst the crowd of other Gryffindors.

"I can't believe you fell asleep, Weasley!" A boy laughed, shaking his head, "Hi, Hermione," He added, giving Harry only an awkward and unsure smile and leaving quickly.

Hermione scoffed and propped her hands up onto her hips, "I wish people would stop treating you that way, Harry!"

"So do I," Said Harry, but then he shrugged. "What can you expect when you're a gay lunatic who has mental breakdowns and visions about dark wizards who are supposed to be dead?"

"Shut it, mate," Ron said, "Just because you're a little different doesn't mean people can treat you like moldy pudding. Plus, You-Know-Who isn't dead and you're the most fantastic gay guy ever."

Harry smiled with affection, "Yeah, but they don't know that."

"Well then they should invest their time and effort into a bit of education," Ron said.

Hermione gave a yelp of laughter, "You? Ronald Weasley? Telling people to invest time and effort into _education_?"

"Just because I'm trying to encourage my friend doesn't mean I'm suddenly some overly scholarly idiot with no life," Ron argued.

"I do not have 'no life,' Ron. I have a perfectly extravagant life and I don't –"

Harry put his hands up, "Please, shut up. I feel like a God damn wrestling mediator."

"A what?" Ron asked.

Hermione dropped her shoulders, "Oh be quiet, Ron."

"And what if I _will_, hmm?" He threatened.

Hermione laughed lifelessly, "Then I will be eternally grateful, _believe me_."

"Jesus," Harry interrupted, "You two constantly sound like an old married couple."

Hermione raised a finger as Ron began to angrily oppose such a suggestion, "_Except_," she said, "If you ever see me wearing _his_ engagement ring, you have a perfect right to slap me across the face."

"I'm looking forward to it," Harry said jokingly.

They had one more class before lunch, and it was Potions. Harry had no idea whether his seating arrangement with Draco was permanent or if it was just for the previous lesson, but he hoped the outcome was the latter. At this point they had reached the entrance to the dungeons, and made their way to Snape's room joking about Ron developing fatherly habits such as smoking a pipe in his slippers and complaining about his male pattern baldness, and Hermione criticizing him, telling him to get up and do something as he groaned and complained.

Harry, all the much too aware of his movements, made his way to his usual table with his friends. Just as he thought he would get away with sitting where he wanted, he heard Snape's voice.

"No, no, Potter. You will be sitting with Mr. Malfoy until I am sure that you and your friends will stop causing disruptions." Draco stood up in protest, but before he could speak Snape said, "Yes, Mr. Malfoy. Now sit down."

Harry sighed, although he wasn't as upset as he had been since he'd been feeling more normal lately. Putting on his most confident look, he sauntered over to Draco's table, and threw he backpack down. Malfoy's goon wasn't in class today for whatever reason – probably skipping to go mug the house elves of their entire food storage – so to his dismay he would be alone with Draco at the table which now seemed like a desolate island. He plopped himself down in his chair, sinking down as to look relaxed and apathetic. He ran his fingers through his hair, looking bored and unphased.

Snape began their lesson – something about mood altering potions, but Harry wasn't listening. He was concentrating on every body movement, making himself look calm and uncaring, showing Draco that he really didn't give a damn about anything that had happened.

"Potter," he heard Draco whisper cautiously.

He turned his head lazily, making sure to tap his pen irritably and stare right into Draco's eyes, "What do you want, Malfoy? Can't you see I'm trying to learn because unlike you, I don't have a death eater family that probably threatens teachers into passing my useless arse."

"Fine. Nevermind," Draco said. "Fine."

Harry turned back, grinning to himself. A part of him was quite shocked; it was as if he and Draco has switched places. Harry was playing the part of manipulative Slytherin and Draco was the emotionally driven Gryffindor. Interesting.

Snape, being his sadistic self, assigned a partnered project. They were to open their text books and chose a potion from a list of mood-altering brews to concoct for a test grade. So this was the pre-Christmas quiz the Ravenclaws were talking about!

Sighing loudly, Harry opened his book to the required page. "Could you _be_ any louder, Potter?" Draco hissed.

"Yeah, I can," Harry replied venomously as he made sure to turn the pages so that every motion ripped a sharp papery noise through the cavernous room.

"You're a prat," Draco said.

"At least I'll have hair at the age of thirty-five," Harry said, commenting on Draco's thinning hair insecurity.

"At least I can see without two inches of glass in front of my eyes."

"At least I tan."

"At least my hair looks proper instead of like an elephant's pubic hair."

"At least I have friends."

"At least I have a girlfriend."

Oh, low.

"In case you haven't noticed, I don't want or need a girlfriend. Next, Malfoy," Harry said.

"Yeah, I know. I haven't forgotten being nearly molested by your disgusting drunken face you bloody poof."

Harry lunged forward, grabbing the collar of Draco's shirt, pulling him threateningly close in anger, forgetting they were still in class.

He began to snarl at the boy, "You may be low, but I never thought –"

"Gentlemen, as you well know, our high inquisitor has banned public displays of affection, so please separate."

"Affection!" Draco shouted.

"I would _never_!" Harry yelled in unison with the other boy.

Snape's lip curled, "Oh I know you most certainly _would ever_, Mr. Potter, don't think any of us have forgotten last year."

Harry sat back in his chair, mortified as several Slytherins and even a handful of Gryffindors that had gone along with the _Hate Harry Potter!_ Campaign laughed at him.

Outraged and horribly embarrassed, Harry remained quiet for the rest of the period, occasionally shooting Draco and Snape horrid looks. He was more than relieved when the class was over, as he had abandoned his cool charade and stormed angrily from the class, accompanied by Ron and Hermione.

"That was awful!" Hermione said.

Ron groaned, "It really was. The nerve of that greasy old monkey, I swear. God, you were obviously just yelling at him – I just – _God_."

"Believe me, I understand," Said Harry glumly.

Hermione sighed, "Well, at least we have our last D.A. meeting before the Hollidays tonight to look forward to! I think it's great for you to have a group of people who support you."

"Whatever," Harry said. "I hope I get hit with a rogue stunning spell so I can spend the next few days in the hospital under a sleeping potion."

"Oh Harry, don't be ridiculous." Hermione said.

Ron jogged in front of them, walking backwards and talking to them at the same time, "What I think Harry needs right now is a bit of food and a lot of Malfoy-centric jokes."

Harry laughed, agreeing wholeheartedly, and the trio walked to lunch.


End file.
